


On Wine, Spice, and the Mysteries of the World

by Biodiversity (SoraSato)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Banter, Debauchery, F/M, Flirting, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Smut, Original Culture, WIP, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26274556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoraSato/pseuds/Biodiversity
Summary: A charming and promiscuous Inquisitor receives a batch of mysterious documents describing a secret technique. The quest for its source leads him to the end of the world and back again, where in the process he finds something more valuable than just magic...An old WIP with engaging characters that I enjoyed reminding myself of. It contains another mention of the original Baadji rope culture, which fascinated me at the time.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	On Wine, Spice, and the Mysteries of the World

After a long travel, the young woman finally reached the Inquisition’s new citadel.

The view was breathtaking by any standard, and the traveler stopped for a moment to contemplate it.

The woman was very pretty, with hair the color of honey and ice-green eyes, perfect oval face with salient cheekbones, and a sweet mouth to die for. She was dressed in warm clothes that attested to her svelte figure, and her ease of handling her huge horse was quite surprising for her size.

She was very nervous before setting foot into the home stronghold of the legendary Herald of Andraste, the man who sealed the sky and saved all of Thedas and maybe even the world! At the mere thought that her long journey to such a fabled hero was closing to an end sent shivers down her spine and turned her legs to jelly.

Having gathered her spirits, she finally ordered her horse to move forward. The cobblestones on the last bridge were melodiously ringing under her mount’s hooves, and the gigantic building started growing more and more before her eyes as if some powerful mage put an enlargement spell on it.

In the Skyhold courtyard, she spotted a cheerful good-looking worker hauling a stack of wood. The guy was sporting a messy light-brown bun on the top of his head, he was unshaven and his clothes were simple and rugged, but his blue-grey eyes under the dark brows were sparkling with good humor, and his beautiful lips were whistling a merry tune.

“Excuse me,” the young woman asked him, “where can I find the… Herald of Andraste?” she pronounced the title in one breath, after overcoming a sudden trepidation.

The man stopped whistling, evaluated the newcomer at a glance, and put down his load.

“Ah, him…” the worker was not too fussy about answering the simple question, and the traveler was rather shocked by a lack of reverence in his voice... Instead, the worker looked the woman over once more and curved his lips into a sly smile. It seemed that he was deciding on what to do next.

The young woman waited patiently for his response, too tired to start arguing and too eager to finally reach her destination.

The man nodded and arranged the stack of wood out of people’s way. “Tell you what, let me help you with that giant horse of yours, and then we’ll go fetch you that pesky Herald.”

Again, surprised by the worker’s irreverent tone at the mention of the Herald of Andraste, the Closer of Rifts, the young woman dismounted and followed the man.

“Hey, Dennet, see here a new charge comin’ for you!” cried the woman’s guide nearing the stable.

A grim-faced elderly man ducked out of a pen and looked at the gigantic horse. His wrinkled face registered astonishment.

“A Rivaini, of all things, here in the Frostback! How do you handle this beast, missy?”

The young woman patted the horse’s neck and smiled.

“He is a friend of mine. And he is as smart as can be.”

“I bet he is!” exclaimed master Dennet enthusiastically. “Let me take your friend from you for a while, don’t worry for him, missus, I’ll take care of him as best I can! What’s the name of this natural wonder?”

The traveler grinned and patted her horse affectionately.

“His name’s Rain. And mine is River. Nice to meet you, master Dennet. Thank you for your help.”

She gratefully bowed to the old stable master and gave him the reins. Then she reassured the horse that all was well and turned to her guide.

The man was standing quietly, waiting for her to conclude her interaction with the stable master, and then ushered the newcomer up the stone staircase.

They entered the kitchens, where he grabbed an apple from a table and offered it to the woman.

“So, River, huh? Quite a name! As pretty as its wearer.” He grinned in a completely innocent way and led her farther into the bowels of the huge building.

“And what’s yours?” she asked, biting the apple. Truth be told, the juicy treat was very welcome after weeks of dry food.

“Ah, sorry, slipped my mind. It’s Tom. Simply Tom. Nice to meet you, River.”

The woman giggled softly. “Nice to meet you, ‘simply’ Tom.”

The man grinned, winked at her, and continued to take twists and turns inside the castle.

Soon, they entered a large, majestic hall full of lavish decorations, burning fires in numerous fireplaces, tables with plenty of fresh food on them, and quite a few well-dressed people strolling about or sitting at the tables, or admiring exotic statuary.

River’s new acquaintance showed her to a comfortable sofa near a wall, asked her to wait, and disappeared.

The young traveler sighed with relief as she finally relaxed on the soft cushions.

She did not even notice when drowsiness enveloped her.

She realized that she had dozed off only when a pleasant voice quietly called out to her: “River, are you sleeping?”

When she opened her eyes and batted her eyelashes a few times to adjust her vision, she saw a dazzling man in his mid-thirties, wearing an embroidered aqua silk suit after the Free Marches nobility fashion. His slightly moist fair hair was combed back, giving him a clean look. He was freshly shaved, smelled of an elegant male perfume… and also, he had laughing blue-grey eyes and had a hint of a grin in the corners of his full lips.

River stirred as she wanted to get up to greet the nobleman, but the latter took a seat next to her on the sofa and gestured for her not to rise.

“So, you wanted to see the Herald?” he asked softly, looking at the young woman.

“Yes, I did.” She was having a bit of difficulty concentrating after her unexpected nap.

“Here I am. You found me.” His lips stretched into a small closed smile. He was not hurrying her, giving her time to come to her senses.

She tried to jump up in awe, but he put his hand on her arm to prevent her from standing, so she opened her eyes wide to take a better look at the Herald’s face. After a moment she got perplexed and frowned.

“Wait! You look very much like…” she searched for the name, “like Tom, the worker I met here on my arrival…”

She looked at the Herald waiting for an explanation.

The latter sighed and shrugged his massive shoulders.

“Yes… My full name is Thomas Gyal Andrew Mateo Benedict Trevelyan, second son to the Lord Trevelyan of Ostwick, as well as the Herald of Andraste and the Head Inquisitor by the whims of fate. Sorry to have confused you earlier. I try to contribute to the general effort of rebuilding this place, hence, my rather misleading looks.”

River’s brows shot up in surprise. Suddenly, she felt fully awake.

She checked his face again and came to the conclusion that this was indeed one and the same person.

“Wow… It’s not every day that one can see a person of rank, much less the Herald of Andraste, perform some manual labor…”

The Herald sighed again and got up.

“Please wait for me here, I must find the foreman and tell him where I put that stack of wood, I will return to you shortly.”

After the young woman nodded, the handsome Trevelyan darted to the exit, shouted to someone in the courtyard a few unintelligible phrases, and returned to the hall.

“Well. Now let’s proceed to the question of why you wanted to see me,” he said upon returning to the sofa.

River nodded dutifully.

“Of course. Let me show you something…” she rummaged in the inner layers of her jacket a bit fretfully and finally produced a flat package wrapped in rough brown waxed paper. She unwrapped the contents, which happened to be a set of hand-written documents, and showed the cover page to the Herald. It looked very different from the rest of the papers, being newer and crisper.

He quickly scanned the page and looked up at the young courier, perplexed.

“I do not recognize this language. Is it Tevene?”

The young woman shook her head.

“Not quite. It’s an islanders’ dialect. Do you recognize this name here?” she asked, pointing a finger at the text.

The man squinted momentarily, then shook his head.

“No…” he scanned the document more closely, picking up several familiar words. “Is this person… dead?”

The young woman nodded.

“This document was drawn up by the town elders, telling of a shipwreck. The man in question barely had time to tell his name and ask his rescuers to send these other papers to the Herald of Andraste, in his own hands. The townspeople could not understand a thing in these texts and drawings, but they hold the Herald of Andraste… that is you, in very high esteem, so they asked the magistrate to send someone speaking Orlesian to Skyhold. We do not have many people interested in such far-off languages, but my father works at the magistrate and he manages the harbor. I’ve spent quite a few years at the port, helping my father, talking to sailors from all corners of the world. Picked up a thing or two. So, it was decided to send me here, to give you these documents. By the manner this dying man insisted on giving them to you, we deemed them to be very important…”

The man before her grew more pensive by the minute. He perused the other papers and sat there barely listening to the young woman’s explanations.

“Do these make sense to you?” she finally asked, a little anxious that she had made this long journey in vain.

The Herald slowly nodded.

“Vaguely. But I have a feeling that I know what they are about and I will do my best to study and understand them…” he got lost in thought for a spell then took the whole package, got up from the sofa, and deeply bowed to the courier. “At the moment, I am at a loss for the right words to express my gratitude to you and your distant people who deemed a dying man’s wish important enough to send one of their own on such a long and perilous journey to deliver these notes to me. My deepest gratitude to you, lady River.”

He bowed reverentially to the young woman and kissed her hand, still clutching the package in his other hand as if he was afraid of letting it go.

“I believe you are very tired of your travel, so I suggest we find my ambassador, the lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva. I hope she will find you good quarters and a hearty meal.”

The guest nodded and got up, ready to follow her host.

The young lord Trevelyan gallantly offered her his flexed arm, which she accepted with trepidation, and led her to an adjacent room. It was filled with book cabinets, there was a merrily crackling fire in the fireplace, and a woman in a somewhat inappropriately opulent attire was scribbling something at a massive oak table.

She raised her head, and her gaze flashed joyously, when she saw the Herald, then her eyes flicked to his companion.

The Trevelyan recounted the whole story to his ambassador and asked for help.

The woman graciously inclined her head and rose from her armchair.

“If you take a seat here, I will go order some preparations to be made…”

She returned a couple of minutes later and announced that the room was ready and that a meal would be delivered to her.

Both persons ushered the young woman to the room, bowed to her, and took their leave. But then the door opened again, and the Herald’s head poked in.

“I expect to have breakfast with you tomorrow, lady River. If you are of a mind, of course.”

The woman smiled at him and nodded excitedly.

“Of course. I will be glad to.”

**-O-**

The following morning, River awoke from a soft noise and instantly opened her eyes. A house-elf was pulling open the curtains. When she saw that the guest awoke, she bowed and said in a reedy voice:

“You may find some clean clothes in this chest, as I took the liberty to get yours to the laundry. Tell me when you will be ready so that I guide you to the dining room for breakfast.”

River sat in her bed and cast a glance around the room. Yesterday, she was so tired that she almost did not look around. Then she answered:

“I believe half an hour will be enough for me. Thank you.”

The elf nodded and disappeared behind the door.

The dining room was well cared for as it was apparently used for visiting nobility on a regular basis.

She was met there by the beaming Herald of Andraste and his ambassador Josephine.

The Herald gallantly helped his guest to a chair and went to sit next to her.

“Yesterday evening, lady Josephine showed me your island on the map. I must say I was amazed at all the way you had to travel to reach the Frostback ridge! That’s crazy!”

The young woman smiled.

“Well, I think it was worth it. We are well aware of your miraculous act of sealing the torn sky, and if we could be even of a small service to you, then all these efforts are justified.”

The Herald frowned and turned to his ambassador.

“I start to see why you keep insisting on having more respect towards my title…. It matters to people… huh…” he looked at the traveler and explained to her: “You see, lady River, until yesterday, I probably didn’t realize what my actions meant to faraway people like you. It’s very… different to be in my place, actually. You stumble from the Fade, you get arrested, you nearly die trying to close a hole in the sky, then people start cheering you out of the blue, then a freaking monster nearly gets you and destroys your shelter along with lots of people on his way, then you nearly freeze to death in the mountains… See, that’s just a long string of sheer survival. Nothing too heroic. And nothing too pleasant either.” He paused, then earnestly added: “I did not think about saving the world. I was just trying to stay alive.”

River lowered her gaze but the intensity of his stare still haunted her.

Finally, she spoke:

“I am very grateful for your candor, your Worship. And I am glad that your survival meant the survival of us all. Maybe that is indeed the fascinating way of the Maker to tell us that we are all connected.”

The Herald’s eyes glistened with surprise. He pressed a napkin to his lips, trying to hide his emotion but it was clear that the woman’s words unexpectedly moved him. The ambassador immediately diverted the guest’s attention by remarking:

“What a deep sentiment, lady River! And so beautifully rendered! I intend to send a thankyou letter to your magistrate and to your parents as well, and I would like to tell you that you may stay here as our guest for as long as you want. Your fresh perspective would do us a world of good…” she cast a sideward glance at the Inquisitor and the latter smiled.

“Yes, of course, stay as long as you want to, lady River. I imagine you might be a bit curious about how we live here…”

The traveler beamed and nodded.

“I was really hoping I could stay for a bit! Also, if I can be of any assistance to your organization, please let me know. If a dozen ravens can get my letter home, then I would use this opportunity, lady Josephine, to add my letter to yours.”

The ambassador nodded.

“Indeed, lady River. We will be delighted!”

**-O-**

They provided her with a guide – a minor secretary of the Inquisition chancellery. The secretary was dry as a bone, evidently bored out of her mind with all the visiting dignitaries and emissaries, hence, her tours of the place were invariably dull.

The lady Josephine tried to brighten the visitor’s days; she introduced her to the Inquisitor’s team and explained the inner workings of the organization. The Herald also tried to spend time with the faraway guest but his agenda was full to the brim as it was, and soon, River could only spot him in his working clothes and recognize him by his messy hairdo in the courtyard going to or from some scaffolding or hear him loudly cursing the workmen if something went wrong.

So, she began observing the inner life of the citadel, and, soon, she realized that it lacked the well-oiled workflow of her home port. People were poorly coordinated and were doing many redundant tasks.

Having understood the processes, River went to the garden where she drew up a list of necessary functions and a scheme of the workflow as she perceived it.

Then she took her time finding the ambassador and accosted her as soon as the woman freed herself from the clutches of an extremely demanding Orlesian noblewoman.

River tried to convey her vision to the ambassador and, unexpectedly enough, received a very positive reaction.

“Oh! Dear lady River! I just knew your fresh eye would be invaluable to us! This is splendid! And so clear! Absolutely lovely! Thank you so much for your input...!” the lady Josephine profusely thanked the visitor and reverently put her papers into a thick leather file that she was carrying around everywhere. “I would suggest you attend our next meeting tonight, lady River, and explain your plan to everyone involved!”

Surely, this prospect looked to River much more exciting than spending the evening in the company of the dutiful but boring secretary.

After the introduction by the lady Josephine, River explained the structure of the workflow in Skyhold as she would have organized it. A few people started beaming, others frowned pensively, and all began asking questions.

A grey horned Qunari giant asked:

“Why would we need an architect, the walls are already there!”

Commander Cullen asked rather cautiously:

“Do we really need a brothel? It could lead to so much trouble and significantly lower discipline!”

A swarthy mage with dandy moustache laughed:

“Oh, I rather like the idea… This place needs a little bit of a distraction!”

A red-haired beardless dwarf with a hairy chest on display shrugged his shoulders:

“Well, we could technically create a set of outposts for early warnings… This makes sense, especially after Haven…”

A thickset dwarf with black hair wrinkled his nose.

“If we hire still more haulers there will be no place left in the tavern!”

The crew kept arguing until River addressed all the issues and explained how their port worked.

“I understand your concerns, gentlemen, but your citadel is in many ways like a hub, a port of sorts, where people come and go, so the core staff must have the following functions. Like those I’ve just explained. If you do not believe me, you can always ask for my father’s expertise. He could write to you clear and detailed instructions but you will have to allow some time for correspondence…”

Finally, it was agreed that she would be the one overseeing the changes.

“But please leave the choice of a brothel to me!” grinned the horned giant.

The mustached mage rolled his eyes.

“Right! And you will populate it exclusively with read-heads!”

“Will not!”

“Will do!”

Their bickering was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger.

He bowed to all present, gave a note to Leliana the spymaster, and left the room.

Leliana scanned the note and frowned.

“The situation at the empress’s court is dire, our messages do not get through to her. Your Worship, I’m afraid you will need to go to the ball at Halamshiral to warn the empress Celine personally.”

The Herald of Andraste moaned and smacked his forehead against the tabletop.

“Argh! Better kill me straight away!”

The spymaster frowned.

“You know very well that that’s not an option.”

The man sighed, fumbled with his bun, let his hair down, and vigorously shook his head.

“This is gonna be a nightmare,” he uttered, got up, nodded to the folks, and left without saying another word.

River batted her eyelashes.

“Why? What can be so terrible at a ball?”

The spymaster hesitated to respond. She observed everyone present in the war room and then answered quietly:

“Well, there are rumors… that our man was once the empress’s lover, and that he was present at the Conclave as her representative… This must be very awkward for him…”

The Seeker Cassandra, with eyes blazing, resolutely shook her head and defied the spymaster:

“Sheer nonsense! Thomas was a friend of… ah… Anthony, my… my dear brother! Thomas is a great dragon-hunter, they hunted dragons together! And it is in this capacity that the empress Celine invited him to her court. She was just attracted to the idea to have a famous dragon-hunter at her disposal! And he hates the Game, I know it for certain! This is why he dislikes the idea so much!”

The red-haired dwarf giggled naughtily and winked to River.

“Something tells me that our Seeker has a crush on the Herald…”

Cassandra flashed with anger at the dwarf and slammed her fist against the table.

“Varric! How many times should I tell you not to slander me in public!”

The meeting concluded at this point, so River nodded to everyone and went to the exit.

The corridor leading to the war room was long and had many openings leading to other parts of the castle, so River was not much surprised when she saw a familiar silhouette sitting on a windowsill in an alcove.

She thought it over and quietly entered the alcove. Upon seeing her, the Herald grinned.

“Ah! Good you stopped by. Care to join me here for a spell?”

The young woman nodded and took a seat on the other side of the windowsill.

“So, how did you like our crowd?” he asked pleasantly.

River smiled.

“Noisy. But you are lucky to have so many bright people at your side.”

The man nodded.

“Yes, I am lucky.”

The woman hesitated.

“Were you really a dragon-hunter?”

The Herald simply nodded. Apparently, he did not think much of his occupation.

River was not sure but something still nagged at her. So, she continued probing:

“The lady Cassandra mentioned you being friends with her brother…”

The Herald nodded again.

“Yes. He was a good man. Died very brutally at the hands of a bunch of apostate blood-mages, Cassie was only twelve then, heck, Anthony and I were only eighteen, green as cucumbers and cheeky as pests. Guess she never recovered from it… Ancient story.”

River nodded.

“Ah, that’s why she seemed so upset when she told of you being friends with her brother…”

The Herald nodded.

“Yep, I think that would be the reason.”

He rose from the windowsill and asked the woman:

“Would you like to have a drink with me at the garden terrace? It is much quieter than the tavern at this hour, and I still have to recuperate from all the yelling at the meeting. So, what do you say?”

River grinned.

“Gladly. But be prepared for a barrage of questions!”

The man grinned.

“That, I can handle.”

“… so, there I was, looking down at my smoldering pants, and the only thought that kept spinning in my head was ‘How I’m going to explain this to my precious advisors?!’”

River was rolling from laughter, unable to contain tears. She could not remember the last time she had laughed so hard. The Herald of Andraste was a motherlode of funny stories.

Having recuperated her breath, the young woman asked him:

“But tell me, why do you relate so many stories about your everyday life and nothing about your battles and dragon-hunting experience?”

The Herald shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, I’m telling you about my life. It lies in small everyday things, like waking up in the morning and seeing the sunlight fall on the carpet, or watching a smooth curly shaving come from under a chisel… It’s simple, sometimes cruel, sometimes sad, or funny. And battles, they are all about blood and gore, and survival. All the same…”

River was surprised.

“A chisel? But aren’t you a nobleman?”

“Yes, I am. So? It’s still no picnic to be the Inquisitor. I have to have a hobby at least! Did you know that the Inquisitor had to pass judging on people and sometimes execute them? Who am I to judge other people? To tell them what to do, or to kill them? They all look at me like I’m the answer to all their problems! They want to be a part of the Inquisitor’s legend, they want to have a piece of me, they want sex, power, money, protection, solution… and they view ME as the ultimate source of it all!”

He frowned.

“This is the part where I go for another bottle of hard liquor…”

River tried to soothe the man and touched his shoulder.

“It is hard to be in your place, to pass judging on people, but apart from being a living person, you now hold a particular place in the minds and hearts of all Thedas. And thus, you are like a chess piece, you have a particular function and a way to move around the board. Such a piece can move only in such a way. Sorry to say, but this is also a game. And until Thedas stops needing you in your capacity of the shield against Fade rifts, you are bound to this role. So, when judging someone, bear in mind that you act not as a person, but as a symbol.”

The man looked at her sullenly and asked:

“How can such a young person bear such thoughts?”

River grinned.

“I just happen to come from a very cultured family.”

The Herald leaned to her and touched her cheek while looking into her eyes.

“I think you need to go rest now,” he said suddenly and sat back in his seat.

River noted the subtle change in him but protested nevertheless:

“I will go rest when I deem necessary. What’s wrong?”

The Herald frowned.

“River, I must confess that I’m a very bad gentleman. Or, rather, a very typical one. I seduce women – or, rather, they tend to offer themselves to me these days – and I can’t even recall their names in the morning. My position here has only made it worse. Thus, I do not want to hurt your feelings. I have enough of Cassie’s doe eyes to follow me around, and I’ll feel bad if you follow suit…”

River lowered her eyes, pondering.

Then she said, rising from the chair:

“Thank you for admitting to your cowardice, milord. I will not bother you any more with my disturbing presence.”

Suddenly, the Herald laughed lightly.

“You are smart, but your understanding of the world is limited, and your head gets swelled. If I were to start any action in your regard, I would be like this…”

He snatched her, pulled her onto his lap, and almost brutally kissed her.

After the initial protest, she finally melted in his arms and that’s when he stopped kissing her.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked releasing her.

River slowly got up from his lap as if in a daze and murmured:

“You bastard!”

The Herald smiled coldly.

“You will thank me tomorrow.”

She frowned.

“And what’s tomorrow?”

**-O-**

The next day, at the imperial palace, Leliana casually accosted River and said to the woman:

“I never realized that you were so good at the Game! You act so morose around the Inquisitor that even I am ready to believe that you dislike him. Clever move.”

Alarmed, River asked the spymaster:

“Wait. Why is that a clever move?”

Leliana arched her brow but still answered:

“Oh, but it would be a disaster if you showed your starry-eyed side to the Orlesian nobility. If you act terse then no one will ever guess that you are just a girl from a faraway province.”

River caught her breath and murmured barely audibly:

“But I am genuinely angry at the Herald.”

The spymaster’s eyes twinkled knowingly:

“Oh, but he is demonically clever at the Game, despite what Cassy says. No wonder that the empress favors him above all…”

When River spied the Inquisitor next time, she set to study him pensively from afar. He was brilliant. Lightly joking here and there, he seemed uncatchable.

A lady in waiting approached him and discreetly said something while pretending to be playing with her fan. The Inquisitor answered, never looking at her, took a sip from his champagne glass, and went towards the vestibule.

Carefully pretending to take a leisurely stroll, River moved in the same direction.

But suddenly, a familiar baritone spoke to her, and someone took her by the waist from behind:

“Shall we dance, dear lady River,” asked the Inquisitor, dragging the woman to the dance floor. His glass already stood forgotten on a parapet.

He tugged her casually but with such force that she had no possibility of disengaging herself.

Once they took the floor and started dancing, Trevelyan smiled at her and said in a growling whisper:

“Do I have now another little spy to be concerned about?”

River frowned, but he immediately turned her back to the crowd and murmured:

“Keep smiling…”

The woman sighed and put on a light smile.

“I do not know what you are talking about. I wasn’t spying on you.”

The Inquisitor nodded and grinned at her.

“Then I want it to remain this way. Do not follow me, this is not a game of your league. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off…”

He waltzed her right into some other dancing chevalier and swiftly disappeared from the dance floor.

**-O-**

The team was lively discussing the outcomes of the event, sharing their impressions, and asking questions to the newcomer apostate.

River, being now part of the crew, did not speak much, her thoughts being far away, at that ill-fated ball.

Much to her dismay, the dwarf Varric noticed her mood and whispered to her:

“Do not think much of the Inquisitor, dear. He is a nice guy, but you’ll hardly want to get closer to him…”

River stared at the dwarf.

“How do you mean?”

Varric hesitated at first, then offered:

“If you want to know him better, come tonight to the tavern. I’m sure you’ll see everything for yourself.”

The woman nodded.

“All right. Thanks for the invitation.”

Varric seemed a bit awkward.

“Eh, that’s not an invitation per se… Later in the evening, there might be things not to your liking… but you just need to understand the situation here…” he paused, “And remember, you may leave as soon as you feel necessary.”

Perturbed by his warning, River steeled herself in advance and left the meeting as soon as was possible.

**-O-**

Taking Varric’s advice, she waited until well into the evening, and resolutely marched to the tavern.

The loud brouhaha could be heard from afar and did not seem to be any different from any port tavern where sailors used to spend their hard-earned coin.

She went inside and slipped to the bar where she ordered an ale. While the barkeeper was filling her tankard, she took a look around the room.

The noisiest group was that of the Bull’s Chargers, with the Herald of Andraste, Varric, the swarthy mage Dorian, and Leliana the spymaster in their midst.

The group was predominantly male, but several local women were keeping them company. River even recognized the cute nurse from the hospital, clinging to the Inquisitor’s side.

The nurse was giggling, languorously licking his earlobe, and making some odd manipulations with her arm out of River’s view. The company was playing Wicked Grace, and by their reactions and exclamations, one could only guess at the nature of the prize.

Another girl, a brunette, was sitting on the other side of the Inquisitor, and while she pretended to be more involved in the game, her arm was performing movements that were suspiciously similar to the nurse’s.

River took a sip of her ale and continued her observation. Now brunette lowered as if searching for something under the table but her head ended up precisely against the Herald’s crotch…

River felt hot in her cheeks. Yes, she was used to seeing any kind of debauchery at the port, but this… this was the Herald of Andraste, for Maker’s sake! She felt embarrassed for witnessing such a scene but could not force herself to leave.

The brunette’s head was obscured by the tabletop, it was distinctly bobbing up and down, the blonde nurse kept stroking and kissing the man, and the latter kept playing cards and drinking liquor as if nothing was happening.

The two girls were becoming bolder, and the male part of the company now grew more interested in their actions than in the game, when the Herald threw his cards at the table and exclaimed triumphantly:

“Hah! Suckers! It would take a much more serious distraction for me to lose at this game! Now it’s my turn to invent a forfeit!... Just wait a sec…”

He grabbed the nurse’s head and kissed her so passionately that River involuntarily sharply took in the air, feeling her body grow tense and warm.

“And now, an announcement for all ladies here,” shouted the Inquisitor, “Tonight is a free-for-all! My faithful friends here, who had the misfortune of losing at cards, are now bound by their honor to fulfill all your wishes tonight! And it’s official!”

The announcement was greeted with a loud cheer, and several emancipated women rose from their tables to get the prizes.

Meanwhile, the Inquisitor passed the brunette into the arms of one of the Iron Bull’s guys and pushed the pretty nurse stomach first onto the table. Then he, totally unabashed, as if he was doing the most natural thing in the world, lifted her skirts, felt her round ass, and started doing her right there in the middle of the crowded tavern. The blonde girl began squirming and moaning, and most of the Inquisitor’s gang got lost in the sight of this performance. Many of the tavern’s customers of both sexes approached the table and started undressing and caressing the Herald. He moaned and tossed his head, and at this instant, he accidentally caught sight of River standing at the bar, rooted to the spot.

His face displayed a crooked smile, he gestured for the young woman to approach, and the tavern customers, having followed his gaze, now started pushing her towards him.

Very reluctantly, River approached the Inquisitor’s table. His hips were obscured by the girl’s skirts, but the motions were unmistakable.

River lowered her gaze to his strong arms and hands gripping at the girl’s waist, to the wobbling breasts in the décolleté of the girl, to her dream-like expression. The Herald was already stripped down to a thin translucent linen chemise and tight leather pants with tall hessian boots. The rest of his clothes and accessories now lay discarded on an empty bench. The guest could discern his nipples and abs moving under the thin fabric dotted with perspiration spots.

“Will you give me a little spur?” he asked her in a croaky voice. His breath was becoming ragged and the eyes dull.

River deeply sighed.

“You have enough followers to give you whatever you want.”

The expression of his face became totally wicked.

“Yes, and I could ask them to strip you naked and sprawl you here on the table, with your arms tightly pinned and your legs spread wide. I’m asking you nicely.”

As if waiting for this cue, Varric materialized at the Herald’s side and said to him in a pacifying tone:

“Let the gal go, she’s seen enough for one night. You don’t want us to look like ungrateful barbarians in the eyes of her people…”

The Herald laughed bitterly, fixed the young woman in the eye, and, not even losing memento, drawled:

“All right, you may watch in the first row!”

He turned his head to his left, where a youth was caressing his chest and abdomen and whispered to him: “You may kiss me!”

In a few moments, he began groaning, his face contorted, and the bestial performance loudly ended to River’s relief.

The Herald paid to his partner enough gentle attention for the islander to feel an unexpected pang of jealousy and lifted the happy nurse from the table.

He tidied himself quickly, returned to his seat, and put the nurse on his lap. He stared, smirking, at the islander and commented rather soberly:

“Not quite what you expected to see in the citadel of the great Inquisition, huh?”

The young woman sighed sadly.

“I’ve seen a lot of whorehouses in the port, but I did not expect our savior and the living symbol of faith to be so… promiscuous…”

The Inquisitor laughed good-naturedly while pouring himself a drink with the left hand and holding the nurse’s waist with the right one.

“I am who I am, dear. If you don’t like me, don’t eat me, I’m not a pie…” he laughed and kissed the blonde nurse on the mouth. “And, for your information, this sweet flower is not a whore, she is a nurse at our hospital, she helps people… in many ways…” again, he exchanged a kiss with the girl and looked at River. “Don’t look so jealous, remember, I offered myself to you and you spurned me. You cannot have me only to yourself, woman. It’s either like this or nothing else.” He patted on the bench beside him. “Quit standing already. Have a seat, grab a beer…” he poured ale into an empty tankard and put it in front of the free seat.

The gang gathered again for another tour of Wicked Grace. Leliana was dealing cards and studying the still-standing islander.

“Have a seat, luv,” she said, smiling. “He is harmless enough. He can be a pest, but not now. Don’t worry, no one would ever force himself onto you here, they are not that cruel even if they can be real dumb.”

Gingerly, River sat next to the Herald and took a gulp from the tankard to hide her embarrassment.

The spymaster continued as she finished dealing cards:

“Tom, you can be such a prick sometimes! Why did you threaten River to strip her naked and spread her legs?! Now she will think that we are complete savages here!”

The Herald shrugged his shoulders, threw a card back at the dealer, and replied leisurely:

“Seemed a good idea at the time.”

Leliana vigorously shook her head and gave him another card.

“No, it was not!”

The man shrugged again looking at his cards.

“I agree, but it was such a nice fantasy!”

The spymaster chastised him like a schoolboy:

“And fantasy it will stay for the future!”

He grinned.

“Yes, ma’am!”

The game went on, and soon River calmed down more or less, the only thing perturbing her was the Herald’s body heat warming her right side.

In half an hour, he gently murmured to the blonde nurse: “Please, darling, stand up from my knee, for my leg is falling asleep. Have a seat here next to me…”

He released the girl from his grip and let her sit to the right of him, having given her another kiss.

For the moment, everyone was too deep in the game to try some other silliness, and River felt relatively at ease. She quickly grasped the rules of the game and played fairly well, given it was her first time.

The Herald was sitting out a round and was bored. So, he nudged River in the shoulder and asked her:

“Do you mind if I touch you?”

“You already did,” she replied in a business-like dry tone, never leaving her sight from the table.

The handsome pest grinned.

“Then may I do it again?”

River rolled her eyes and put a card from her stock in the middle of the table.

“If you do nothing more…”

The Herald let out an amused grunt and put his arm around the woman’s shoulders.

“Let me see your cards,” he murmured, twisting her hand.

“Hey,” she protested, but he seemed to be interested more in cards than in her, so she let him do it. And, truth be told, his hot, hard, odorous body pressing against her had a mesmerizing effect on her.

He checked the card she had put on the table and took it back into her hand.

“Sorry guys, a beginner’s mistake! Let me explain to her…”

And he whispered a few tips in her ear while pointing at her cards. His breath smelled of whiskey, but River did not mind – her father had been a whiskey aficionado as well, and she was used to the smell.

The Herald helped her play and was behaving as casually as if she were his little sister or some other relative. This was intriguing River much more than if he would hit on her as she had half-expected. But the man remained kind and neutral.

Having exhausted all other entertainments at the Inquisitor’s side, the nurse turned to the conversation.

She asked River, leaning on the table to better see the islander and to more advantageously display her cleavage to the guys in front of her:

“May I ask you, do you have sodomites on your island?”

River shrugged her shoulders, her mind busy with completely different things.

“I wouldn’t know, why?”

“Are you a lesbian?” continued the nurse in a completely natural tone, without any trace of malice. She was genuinely curious.

The Herald laughed and answered instead of the uncomprehending islander.

“No, she isn’t, Nikki. The way she looks at me, I bet one could fry eggs with that sort of look! She just wants me all to herself…” with an amused expression, he drew his face near River’s cheek and asked her mischievously: “Ain’t that true, my dear lady River?”

The young woman frowned and retorted, never looking at the man:

“I start to seriously doubt my initial foolishness.”

The Herald laughed.

“You stopped liking me?”

River looked at him sternly and seriously answered:

“I start to think that you are a terrible person.”

Hearing this, Leliana hit the tabletop with her palm.

“See, Tom?! That’s what Josie has been telling you over and over! You just ruin everything. Never mind your nonexistent reputation, but you are ruining it for all of us, for the thing we are trying so hard to build, for all those people who put their effort into the Inquisition...!”

She could go on, but River stopped her.

“Don’t worry, Leliana, I am quite capable of discerning between shortcomings of personal traits and the efforts of many people. It’s just that the Herald of Andraste… turned out to be a huge disappointment for me, as a representative of my people. We at Caer Cramond sincerely believed without any substantiation that the Herald of Andraste was someone worthy… but it is not Thomas’s fault that we have been living an illusion… Maybe it’s the will of the Maker to make us see his world as a whole and learn to accept everything that comes our way in a non-judgmental way…”

Several people lowered their heads in respect, but the Herald only grumbled:

“Here we go again...”

He sighed and put his cards on the table.

“This turn is not mine. Maybe I should change my lucky mascot…”

He took a look at the faces around him, then sighed and rose from the table.

“You may keep playing, I’ll call it a night…”

He kissed affectionately his nurse on the neck, kissed the brunette on the mouth, and whispered something in her ear, then waved to his buddies and went to the exit.

Dorian murmured, never leaving the sight of his cards:

“He didn’t take it well…”

Leliana shrugged.

“He hates this religious stuff…”

River raised her eyes from the cards, looking troubled.

“Did I offend him?”

Leliana, poker-faced, shook her head.

“May well be. You can still catch up with him…”

Varric nodded in accord, and, trying to hide a mischievous glint in his eyes, supported the spymaster:

“Go on, he is still not far!”

River sighed, put down her cards, profusely apologized to all the present, and hurried toward the exit.

Once she closed the door behind her, Leliana and Dorian burst out laughing, Varric beamed and gave high five to Leliana.

“Send a scout! Send a scout!” prompted her Dorian. “We need to know who wins the wager!”

A little out of breath, River darted out of the tavern and quickly scanned the courtyard.

The Inquisitor was indeed not very far away. He was leisurely strolling in the bright moonlight, evidently enjoying the silent night after all the racket at the tavern.

River felt slightly foolish and just had the thought of returning to the tavern when the man turned his head and saw her.

“Ah,” he murmured and stopped, waiting for the young woman to catch up with him.

When she got closer, he put his thumbs under his belt and strolled side by side with her.

“So, they pushed you out? Smartasses!” he grinned mockingly and went on toward the main staircase.

“I wonder what’s the wager…” he added under his nose and cast a sideward glance at the young woman.

The latter did not seem to have heard the last remark and started talking in a slightly hesitant voice:

“I am sorry for having been so preachy… This was neither the right place nor the time…”

She expected him to somehow respond to her apology, but the man instead asked her:

“Do you want to spend the night in my room? There is a sofa, in case you worry. If you go with me now, there is a chance that we upset the wager they put on us and the next morning we’ll be able to savor their defeat!”

He grinned at her, very happy with his plan.

River’s eyes widened.

“What wager?” she managed to ask, but there was a tiny creak coming from the tavern door, and the Herald grabbed her into his embrace and whispered:

“We are being followed. Pretend to kiss me…”

River wanted to protest but his lips already covered hers and, frankly, it was all she wanted at the moment.

A few minutes passed, but they continued kissing.

“All right, ready to go?” asked the Herald, gently stroking her back.

River reluctantly opened her eyes only to see his dark silhouette against the silver moon, and the halo of his see-through white chemise.

“I did not understand…” she began, but he ushered her inside the hall.

“I’ll explain it to you later…” he said and guided the woman along the hall in the semi-darkness of rare lit torches.

They made a few turns, then climbed the stairs and turned again, until the Herald pushed a door to let the woman in, with a comment: “Ah, home sweet home.”

River stirred.

“I… er… I think that’s enough pretending for any potential spy. I’d better go to my room now…”

A mocking grin on his lips, the Herald murmured softly:

“Little liar. You don’t want to go to your room now.”

River frowned.

“You know nothing of what I want, all you say are just your suppositions.”

The Herald shrugged his shoulders, went to his desk, and poured a glass of amber liquid.

“True enough,” he said, offering her the filled glass. “A night cup then? And to the Fade their wagers, let them win.”

The woman frowned and did not take the glass.

“Explain.”

The Herald shrugged, took a sip from the glass, and said:

“I’m one hundred percent sure that they made wagers on whether or not we sleep together tonight. So, I wanted to tip the balance a bit. If we do not have sex, many of them will lose tomorrow, but you being here now makes the intrigue **_much_** more interesting. They are now sitting glued to their places waiting for the scouts’ reports like for Andrastean gospels! Oh, sorry, I keep forgetting that you are one ardent believer…”

“First, is it so hard to believe that a sentient force created such structure and harmony in the nature? And, second, why do you care if your buddies gamble a bit?”

He shrugged and took a lute from behind his desk. He picked a few notes and answered:

“They are my friends. If we do not have fun with our friends, then where can we have fun at all? And with whom, pray tell, with Corypheus? Or his sidekicks?”

He finished his glass and started playing a nice melody.

While playing, he approached the woman and told her softly:

“I can see that you are already tired. You may sleep here, or go to your room, as you wish. Anyway, I will not try anything mean, I promise. Word of the rift-closer.”

He put two fingers of his right hand to his heart and resumed playing. He was smiling, but not mocking.

“I’m sleepy as well,” he confessed and went to put the instrument away.

River stood in the middle of the room and could not decide whether she should trust the man or get the Fade out of his quarters.

His mood changed, he was not seeking to keep her in his room anymore, he was letting her go…

The bestial image of him having sex in the tavern jumped into her mind, it’s primal carnality stirring something very powerful deep inside her…

“May I ask…” she hesitated, “Was it… was it a normal evening for you in that tavern?”

He smiled melancholically.

“Ah, hopeful to the last!... Yes, River, it was more or less an average night. Quite entertaining, actually. But if you wanted to ask me how many times out of those tavern nights I end up having sex, I will tell you: all of them. It’s just that such nights do not happen so often. You know, most of the time I’m busy sleeping in the mountains or in the woods, or in some Maker-forsaken bog, rolled up in sheepskin. As you’ve probably already gathered, my trade requires lots of travel, where all the entertainment I can get is practice shooting at some shambling undead.”

The woman did not realize that he had drawn closer to her. He just stood there watching her look at him, giving absolutely no clue about his intentions.

River felt a little wary on one hand and intrigued on the other.

“I wonder…” he whispered, “Were you turned on in the tavern?”

“What?” River’s eyelashes fluttered, she took a step back.

“Dance with me!” he asked and took her hand.

“But…” she never managed to devise a reply when she was already swirled and carried through the air with amazing deftness.

The Herald was humming a tune so catching that the young woman stopped resisting just to hum along.

They smiled, humming, clapping their hands for rhythm, and twirling around each other.

At the climax of the dance, Thomas lowered her towards the floor, inclined his torso towards hers… his hand slid along her thigh, found the hem of the dress… and then something unbelievable happened. His hand glided under her skirt, a few fingers deftly found their way into her pussy and, before she even opened her mouth to protest, the man put her back on her feet and looked at his fingers.

“Hey!!!!” shouted River. “You promised not to do anything of sorts!!! This is outrageous!!!”

She stood there, flabbergasted, while the Herald smelled his fingers, licked them, and cast the woman a defying look.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “You **_were_** turned on! Little hypocrite!”

Vexed by his accusation, River jumped to the Herald, slapped him hard across the cheek, and brought her face as close as she could to his, staring him ferociously in the eyes. The man was much higher than her, so the scene looked rather comically. She was beyond herself with rage now while he was looking at her with laughing eyes, never minding the burning slap.

“You...!” she muttered, choking with rage, on the verge of slapping him again.

“Yes, I am willing to give you a ride,” his voice was calm, his eyes lucid. “Twice.”

“You dared touch me without my consent!!! And you broke your promise!!!” she finally uttered in a voice hoarse with fury.

The Herald nodded.

“Not completely true, I did not hurt you. But you are right to be outraged, I was impulsive. I have no excuse for that. Maybe that’s because people always touch me without **_my_** consent. I’m sorry.”

“As if your apology would change anything!”

River deflated a bit, but she was still angry when his next remark made her flare up again:

“But you taste yummy.”

The woman had a face like thunder.

“Now that’s it! You’ve outdone yourself! I’m returning home and to Fade with your Inquisition!”

She resolutely started moving towards the exit, but still heard his reply:

“Safe travel...! All this because I said you were tasty…”

River shook her head and stormed out of the room.

Once in her room, she started gathering her trinkets and checking her travel clothes, when she heard a knock on the door.

She sighed exasperating, and shouted curtly:

“Get lost!”

But the voice from behind the door was not the Herald’s, it was Leliana’s.

“I just wanted to check if you were all right… Apparently not… I’ll see you in the morning…”

River sharply opened the door and stared at the spymaster.

“I’m going home!” she announced in a no-nonsense way. “I’m sick of your barbaric ways, of your wagers and I’m definitely sick of the Inquisitor! This man may have saved us all, but I will be happier thinking about it once I put a thousand miles between us. I will not say anything to my people in case you are worried, but I definitely do not want to stay here for another day!”

Leliana looked impressed.

“Wow. Tom made it to the next level of douchery… Could I be so bold as to ask you what happened?”

River started to say something, blushed, tried again, but Leliana stopped her.

“I get it. Something despicable. I’m sorry you had to put up with this side of him. If you need something for your travel, you know where to find me. I will send a scout to accompany you in the mountains, you know how it is to navigate the passes. Good night and safe travel.”

Oddly enough, many people have gathered in the morning to see the islander off.

They wished her well, thanked for the help, and generally were very positive.

River waved to the group, nodded to the accompanying scout signaling that she was ready, and set off on her huge horse Rain.

While she was traversing the courtyard, she overheard a few remarks pertaining to betting but she decided that it was over for her and spurred her horse to move faster.

As she was entering the gatehouse where all sounds multiplied tenfold, she overheard one soldier telling another:

“I lost last night big time. Thought it’d be a done deal since the man himself bet on it…”

“I thought he was great at the Game…” interjected the other soldier.

“Miscalculated something?” offered the first soldier hesitantly.

“Riiiiight! A miscalculation worth 300 gold, more than three monthly wages...!”

River frowned but went on, eyes straight ahead.

She already reached the first pass when she stopped her horse. The last night’s earworm of a song kept playing in her head. She had to admit it was a nice tune.

The scout looked at her quizzically, and she explained, almost stuttering:

“I’m afraid I forgot something at the citadel. Let’s return while it’s not too late.”

The scout nodded indifferently and turned his mount.

In the courtyard, she spotted the commander and headed toward him.

“Where is the Herald?” she asked him after tying her fully equipped horse to the nearest pole.

Cullen looked at her as if he saw a flying nug.

“Er… well… at this hour, he must be in the garden…” he finally managed to gather his marbles.

River thanked him and headed to the garden.

There, in the peaceful surroundings of trees and bushes, the Herald was studying some old papers, occasionally making certain strange movements and gestures.

He was so preoccupied with his work that he did not even turn his head at the approaching islander.

Having come closer, she recognized the papers – they were the ones that she had brought to the Herald from her home island.

The man was utterly focused on performing a series of peculiar movements, and she decided to wait it out. Meanwhile, she was faced with a dilemma on how to address the Herald – by his title, which she would hardly force herself to pronounce now, given the circumstances; or by his name, which would be too off-handed…

But he relieved her of this problem by asking her in a quiet voice:

“You wanted something?”

River frowned and paused, trying to formulate her thoughts in the most compact manner. Then she said:

“I want to know why you lost your wager.”

For a moment, it looked like the Herald did not register what she said, but then he completed the series of movements and approached the table, where his papers lay pressed down by a smooth river stone.

“I am a rich man, I can afford it sometimes,” he said impassively having cast the woman a fleeting gaze.

River bit her lip. She cursed herself for making all this way back. The only thing left to her now was to persist.

“I don’t believe it was a miscalculation,” she added, starting to feel awkward.

The Herald nodded, his eyes still on the papers.

“It wasn’t.”

The woman sighed and inclined her head, deciding what to do.

Finally, she asked, deciding that it would be the last question:

“So, what did you gain for 300 gold?”

When he looked at her at last, his gaze was lucid and utterly calm.

“I satiated my curiosity and proved that my initial assessment was correct.”

The woman frowned, disbelieving that it could be so simple.

“That’s it?!” she could not help but ask.

The Herald smiled absent-mindedly and dropped a short “Aye.”

River stood there dumbfounded and then exclaimed:

“That’s so stupid!”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I do lots of stupid stuff.”

He squinted at the paper he was holding and gave it to the woman.

“While you are here, could you tell me what’s written in the last line? It’s damaged by water and it’s hard to decipher…”

River shook her head.

“No. I will not play your stupid games anymore!”

The man faintly smiled.

“Because you think that this is all a game?”

The woman cast him a disdainful look.

“Obviously, since you apparently hold wagers on my account. I was senseless enough to return. But I know myself, and I’d better look dumb and clarify this issue than spend the rest of the day nagging myself to exhaustion with hypotheses.”

“Or I am not playing, and I genuinely wanted you to have a look at this document. Since you saw it before, maybe the text wasn’t so badly damaged back then.”

River glared at the man and said: “Goodbye.”

She turned on her heels, this time for good.

Leliana stepped from the shadows of the gallery and asked the Inquisitor:

“Should we get her back?”

Trevelyan shrugged.

“Whatever for? Let her go already. She needs to sort out that clash between what she wants and what she thinks. Also, I’ve been exceedingly mean to her.”

The spymaster raised her brow.

“On purpose?”

The man looked at her coolly.

“And what do you think?”

Leliana smiled.

“Good. I came for something other than discussing the islander…”

She slid her palm inside the man’s chemise and caressed his warm pectoral.

The Herald looked at her appraisingly, and she laughed:

“Just a kiss will do.”

He humored her and kissed her on the lips.

Leliana smiled.

“Your thoughts are far away…”

The man gave her the sheet of paper.

“Cannot decipher the last line.”

The spymaster squinted at the text and shook her head.

“Let me take it to Dagna. I’m sure she will be able to do something about it.”

The Herald brightened.

“Ah! That’s a good idea!”

Leliana grinned at him, took the paper, and left.

**-O-**

The moors were simply ghastly. It was cold, wet, and it stank.

But the four visitors did not mind any of that. They were focused on observing an elevation far ahead.

“Do you think it’s in the nest?” asked Cassandra, her eyes glimmering with excitement.

They all, except for the sullen Dorian, were equipped with pretty heavy weapons. Harpoon-type spears were safely strapped to their backs; they also had swords, daggers, and cross-bows, and the Iron Bull even wore a breastplate.

Tom Trevelyan let out a short grunt and put the spyglass to his eye.

“All I see are a few dragonlings…” he muttered, passing over the spyglass to the Seeker.

She checked his observation and sighed.

“I’m afraid that you are right. It’s not there…”

The Herald mulled something over. Then he said:

“Bull, you go find a less damp spot to camp; Dorian, cast me your invisibility spell and you may join the Bull. Cassie, stay here, the guys will tell you where they camped. And I will go check the nest. We need to know more before we do anything else.”

The Iron Bull growled.

“Why do you keep all the fun to yourself?”

“Because I was the first one to voice it. Let’s go.”

Dorian started the casting and warned the Inquisitor:

“You’ll have ten minutes tops, so I put the spell on retard. It will trigger in fifteen minutes when you get there. And be careful getting out of there before your ten minutes run out.”

Thomas nodded.

“Got it.”

He gave his harpoon to Cassandra and trotted away. The Iron Bull shook his head and reluctantly went away in another direction, closely followed by the mage.

The Seeker made a quick calculation in her head on the estimated time of the Herald’s arrival and prepared to wait.

***

Cassandra and Tom showed up at the makeshift camp slightly later than anticipated. The Herald was wet and dirty from head to toe, but pleased.

“We are dealing with a Gamordan, so let’s equip against electricity, deadwood poles would be our best choice, as well as fishermen’s boilersuits, we can get them at the Riverside Garrison. There are no drakes in the vicinity, which will significantly ease our job; the remnants of the little ones’ meal are almost gone, the dragonlings are hungry and nervous, means their mom will soon return to them with something to eat. And yes, I’ve found a few heads of cows, horses, some human stuff, and a bronto, she surely keeps them on a villagers’ diet. There is a small ruined building in the vicinity, a good dry spot should one’s boilersuit get ripped up. I believe that’s all I have gathered.”

The Iron Bull gleefully exclaimed:

“Oh, then it will be a fine battle! Mothers are the most ferocious beasts!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes but refrained from commenting.

The Tevinter mage raised his arms as if in praise.

“Oh, thank the Maker! Means we will not have to feed the local insects for the whole week!”

The Herald cast him a sideward glance.

“You could have refused to join us in the first place.”

“And leave you guys all to yourselves to get all the glory and acid burns? Perish the thought!”

The team spent half the night exchanging war stories and silly jokes, and by the second hour of the morning finally went to sleep. Their experience and instincts told them that the next day would be a long one.

Early in the morning, they went to the Fens camp to order the equipment and the suits from the Garrison. Luckily for them, the camp communications officer had fresh crows, and the needed munitions arrived at the camp in just under three hours. It allowed the hunters to set off towards the dragon nest in the early afternoon. As they drew near, the reek of decomposing meat grew worse by the yard. It was agreed to deal with dragonlings first, save one, so that the high dragon would feel the need to feed her offspring and come closer.

The dragonlings were no real threat, but still, the team of hunters made their best effort to be precise and careful – they did not need any stupid injury or tear in their boilersuits to jeopardize their imminent encounter with the Gamordan.

After they dealt with the dragon young and Dorian threw the last one off their scent, they had enough time to choose the best tactical point in the south-eastern, dryer part of the marsh for their ambush, discuss their strategy, and rest before the main fight.

It was already almost dusk when the Iron Bull heard something.

“Can you hear it?” he asked gleefully. “The mighty wings batting the air! She will be here soon!”

And, true enough, the high dragon appeared in the fading light of the day.

She was huge. A very large specimen, beautifully colored, and extremely powerful.

The hunters’ eyes sparkled with anticipation.

The beast let out a shrill roar, and the team tensed.

The Herald licked his lips, lifted a scythe-type weapon, and breathed out:

“Distract her. I’m going for her wings!”

And he darted sideways to approach the dragon from behind.

“Crazy s.o.b.!” muttered the Qunari admiringly and rushed toward the beast’s head.

And while the three attacked the dragon straight ahead, Tom ran to her, staying in her blind spot, and finally jumped onto her side, forcefully driving in the razor-sharp hook end of the weapon and used his own weight to slide down to the ground, ripping the dragon’s pretty painted wing almost in half.

An angry roar filled the air. The boilersuit helped the hunter not to get electrocuted, and the man ran like hell, knowing full well that he might not get a chance at a second attack of this kind.

He sprinted toward the dry land but the adversary was not only huge but also very dexterous for her size. At one moment, Tom just acted without thinking, and it saved his life – he darted sideways and rolled still further out of his initial trajectory, and a millisecond later the dragon’s maw with sharp teeth landed at exactly the same spot where he had been. The man turned, poked the dragon in the eye with the deadwood pole, failed to damage her eye but still made her toss her head back and finally made it to an outcropping of rocks where he hid and waited a few moments for his friends to distract the beast again, then took his scythe once more and headed for her hind leg. He realized of course that this time she would be wary, which multiplied the danger for him tenfold, but it was the only way to make a difference for his friends in this tough fight.

The first couple of times he was knocked off his feet by her tail and spotted a tear in his suit, but he still dodged and darted and danced avoiding her tail, and finally made it to the beast’s hind leg. The skin on it was much tougher than on the wings, so the hunter had to get to its more tender inside part and cut it in the groin, between the leg and the hip joint. Now he did not have the advantage of his weight, so he had to use all his might to pierce the skin with the spear point of his weapon.

There was no time to dwell on it, so Tom inhaled and thrust the spear into the dragon’s hip joint, aiming at her major artery.

The beast’s shrill cry was deafening, her pouring blood – blinding, and her electric breath – stunning.

Tom fell on the ground, all his muscles twitching in a painful spasm, only praying that the dragon does not stomp him, but, luckily, the creature grew preoccupied with her wounds, and it gave him a moment to recuperate and roll just outside the immediate proximity of her injured leg.

Cassandra spotted him and ran to help him rise to his feet, then quickly returned to her position. Clearly, her military training was here very appropriate.

Knowing that a handicapped beast becomes even more dangerous, Trevelyan nevertheless repeated his assault on the dragon’s second hind leg, even more successfully this time.

The fight went on for some time when the team finally started to feel that they were prevailing. Another half-hour later, the creature let out its last roar and expired in violent convulsions.

The hunters were also significantly damaged, their skin was mangled with electric burn marks, bloody wounds, irritations from the acidic pools where each of them landed during the fight at least a couple of times… But still, they were exhilarated with their hard-won victory and for the first few minutes, they were just panting and hugging each other, staring in disbelief at the great dragon at their feet.

“This was epic!” the Iron Bull was traditionally the first to put an end to the silence.

The Herald nodded and tried unsuccessfully to wipe the dragon’s blood off his face. He looked like he bathed in a pool of blood, which was not far from reality, for he got a blood shower under the dragon’s belly.

“You are one crazy son of a bitch!” the Qunari uttered affectionately, patting the man on his back.

The Herald winced – he landed on his back not once and not twice in the course of the battle, so it was not the best idea to pat him there. Tom hugged Cassandra and Dorian and maneuvered out of the direct proximity of the dead beast, while the Bull remained there to marvel at their hard-won trophy.

Slowly, the hunters began to return to their senses and understood that the adrenaline rush had made them a world of good, masking all the pains that they were having.

“I’ve got a few cracked ribs,” announced Dorian matter-of-factly. Both his friends nodded and said “me too” in a resigned manner.

“We need to get to the nearest post and find healers, for now, we are easy prey for any bog vermin out there…” said Cassandra, frowning.

Her chums nodded but remained sitting and watching the Qunari walk around the dragon body.

Dorian stirred.

“I’d better launch a few flares – our allies will send us reinforcements.”

Tom nodded.

“Good thinking.”

The mage grinned.

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know!”

Tended and cured, the hunters were celebrating at the Fort Revasan their victory over the vicious beast.

Having spoken to the local officers, Thomas gathered a few of them and explained what to do. Then he asked Marshall Proulx, his lieutenants, his crew, and a few visiting Inquisition officers to rise to the tallest tower that gave on the whole plateau, the river, the mountains, and beyond into the mists of the Exalted Plains.

When the whole group assembled there and people started to look at each other in the hopes of understanding the purpose of this meeting, the Herald came at last, huffing, puffing, and grinning, accompanied by the Orlesian soldiers and officers bearing musical instruments.

Having caught his breath, he addressed the people:

“This land has seen so much war and horror these past decades that I feel compelled to give it – and to you, my valiant friends – a little bit of harmony…”

He produced a rattle-box and started gently rocking it in his hand, producing a rhythmic grating sound. Although temperate, the rhythm carried far and wide across the plain. Tom began humming and gestured to one of his men, who started playing the lute. Then another one joined them with a viola, then a flute, and finally the heavy-set man with a gorgeous bass drum that carried its reverberations straight through the bodies of gathered people to the faraway mountains on the horizon.

Still directing his small troupe with gestures and whistles, the Herald opened his mouth and just uttered the first words of the song in his powerful carrying baritone when all the people present got entranced by the sheer raw might of the sounds streaming through their hearts and into the valley at their feet, sweeping the drybrush, the rocks, the birds and animals, the burnt buildings and glancing off the surface of the distant river. The whole immeasurable space got immersed in the melodious waves of the old and all times favorite song, beautifully orchestrated, and played with such ardor that it seemed to raise the dust from the earth in a synchronic dance.

A young lieutenant brazenly joined in the song with his ringing falsetto, a few others added their voices to the choir, people started clapping and moving to the rhythm of the melody, and the Herald kept singing, joyously grinning at surrounding people and nodding to the dance.

About forty minutes later, when the last sounds died out, and Trevelyan, happy and drenched in sweat, started hugging with all the participants, the land under their feet started transforming before their eyes as if washed clean of all its wounds, the air became clearer, the wind – sweeter, and the colors brighter.

Marshall squeezed the Herald’s hand in his both hands and shook it so vigorously that Tom finally extracted his hand, laughing, and patted Marshall on the back. The Orlesian general could not understand, along with many others, what just happened to him, but the divine feeling of elation pushed him to express himself in a rather emotional way.

Cassandra made her way through the crowd to get to her friend and took him by the arm.

“You must tell me what it was…”

Dorian caught up with them and joined in their conversation:

“Yes, I have never encountered such magic, does it come from your anchor? Is it a rift thing? I must say it has an amazing effect!”

Trevelyan shook his head.

“No magic. You know, I’m no mage. It’s from that dead man’s documents, brought by the starry-eyed islander. It uses the universal power of our emotions and channels them in the right way. That man must have understood that healing comes in two stages: first, the cleansing, and then – the enlivening. Hence he provided me with the tool for the second part of healing the land…”

The mage nodded.

“Amazing. And quite powerful. Remind me why you were so nasty to the girl?”

The Herald shrugged his shoulders.

“Leliana would have made her life miserable. It was better for her to go.”

Cassandra shook her head doubtfully.

“You exaggerate, Thomas. Leliana is quite a reasonable woman.”

Tom rolled his eyes.

“Repeat that after you sleep with me.”

Cassandra blushed.

“I would n…”

But they were interrupted by Marshall, who verbosely offered them to continue the lovely evening in the main hall of their Fort.

The merry company gratefully accepted the proposal, and all people started moving in the direction of the stairs.

The general merriment was subduing like coals in a dying fire, and people began drifting to their sleeping places one by one.

The Herald was soundly sleeping in his large armchair, hugging Cassandra and Dorian in his arms, when the Iron Bull came to them.

Dorian opened one eye, and the Bull whispered to him:

“The Marshall offered us to sleep in some classy quarters, let’s take our buddy here to a normal bed for a change.”

Dorian nodded, pushed Cassandra to wake up, and explained the proposal to her.

Together, they moved the Herald to their quarters and sprawled all four of them on the huge bed.

The sleep came instantly, for they were practically dying of tiredness by then.

It was already about noon of the next day when the Herald opened his eyes because a sunray was falling right on his face.

Tom sighed and patted someone’s head lying on his chest. Having recognized Cassandra’s hairdo, he started pensively stroking her hair. He cast a glance around, pushed Dorian’s hand away from his crotch, and removed his own leg from the Bull’s shoulder.

Cassandra’s hand travelled to his midriff, and he put his hand on hers to stop it from moving.

“Cassie, I remember the time when you had pigtails, stop fancying me, dear,” he whispered to the top of her head.

“Then why are you stroking me?” she reasoned in the same whisper.

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. You are family. Sort of.”

“So that’s why you were pawing my breasts last night?” she raised her head to look at him, her eyes laughing.

Tom smiled. “A reflex, I guess. I was sleeping. And I was probably making sure it wasn’t Dorian.”

Cassandra grinned. “See? You were pawing them!”

Trevelyan put his hand on her breast and looked her in the eyes.

“Are you satisfied now, pigtails?”

Cassandra bit her lower lip and put her hand on top of his. Her face was flushed and her eyes were shiny.

Tom smiled at her crookedly and whispered: “I’ve already seen you naked, dear. On numerous occasions, in bogs and deserts. I’ve already checked you out plenty of times.”

“You bastard!” Cassandra laughed soundlessly, rose, and leaned over him, her eyes glinting.

“Are you seriously going to rape me?” he asked in a casual voice, putting his hand on her hip.

She stroked his pectorals and abs.

“Mmmmm… Tempting…”

“Your knee is pushing at my tool, you know.”

“Oh, I can feel it quite well.”

“And? What’s the verdict?”

She grinned mischievously.

“Oh, I’ve checked you out as well, plenty of times. I know all there is to know about your tool.”

“So, you want it or not? Decide, woman. A one-time offer.”

“There are two guys too many here. And I bet they are hardly sleeping anymore.”

At this moment, Dorian, without opening his eyes, muttered:

“Don’t mind us. That’s too entertaining to leave here.”

Cassandra gestured at him.

“See what I’m talking about?”

The Herald shrugged his shoulders.

“As if they haven’t seen this before.”

“Not with me they haven’t.”

“Big deal,” groaned the Bull, sighing. Then he added: “C’mon, Cassie, **_everyone_** at the citadel is informed of your fancying our buddy. You might as well start doing something about it.”

She frowned.

“But that’s not what I want!”

The Herald sighed and put his hands behind his head.

“Take it or leave it, dear. There is a line waiting.”

Cassandra let out a disgusted noise but did not move from her position.

Thoughtfully, she looked down at the smiling man, into his clear grey eyes, and moaned desperately.

“You know, I like the way you do it, Tommy boy,” said the Bull thoughtfully, as if to himself, “so natural, so caring… I bet the ladies love you after sex even better.”

Cassandra frowned and grumbled at him:

“Hey, are you doing some kind of kinky advertisement for your chap?!”

The grey giant shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, it’s insensitive of me but true.”

Dorian did not say anything, and his mood was apparently spoiled.

The Bull nudged him in the leg and exclaimed:

“Don’t be so jealous, go find yourself someone!”

But the mage swore “Kaffas!” and jumped out of the bed only to find a pitcher of water.

“This Orlesian wine is rather heady,” he commented, taking a few long gulps. “So, don’t expect any pearls of wisdom from me this morning.”

Cassandra sighed heavily and resolutely took off from the bed as if trying to put some distance between the Herald and herself.

The week rolled towards its end when the dragon-hunters returned to the citadel together with the service corps hauling their spoils.

As usual, the Herald was instantly assaulted by his advisors, quickly got rid of them, hid in his quarters to wash himself, changed his clothes, and ran to the kitchens.

There he spotted a freshly baked pie and broke off a piece of crust, when the head cook, a fit middle-aged man with dark ash hair and piercing blue eyes, entered the room, took a rolling pin, and shouted:

“Oi, lad! What do you think you are doin’?! It’s for the Inquisitor...!” then he saw Tom turning to him and stopped sharp in his tracks. “Oh! You’re… him. Sorry your Worship! Let me cut you a proper piece!”

Tom shook his head. “Sorry to have spoiled the thing, chef, I’m just very hungry. Do me a sandwich, and let this nice pie wait for the proper supper.”

The chef gleamed and raised his finger.

“I’ll do you one better, your Worship! Give me two minutes.”

The Herald nodded and sat patiently next to a service table.

“And it’s Tom, chef. Nice to finally meet you! You cook like a god!”

The head cook’s ears turned pink, and he grinned gleefully.

“Thanks!... er… Thomas. I’m Donatien, Don for short…”

The two men shook hands, and the chef set to prepare a healthy snack for the Inquisitor.

They quickly found common ground for small talk and soon were chatting like two old buddies.

Even when the chef presented Tom with a delicious meal, they did not cease their conversation.

The Herald tasted a small side dish, mushrooms in green butter with a hint of garlic and celery, and rolled his eyes.

“I’ve said you cooked like a god, but that’s an understatement!”

He sopped a piece of fresh, crusty bread in the gravy and muttered:

“Don, mmmmm, I’m your fan!”

The head cook stood there, happily grinning and watching the man enthusiastically eat. All in all, the day looked brighter today.

The cook returned to the ruined pie and told the Herald in a no-nonsense manner:

“But never go ruining my dishes again!”

Tom nodded, chewing.

“Sure, next time I’ll go straight looking for you.”

Don nodded. “That’s better.”

The door opened, and a bright young lady with green eyes, golden freckles on her nose, and healthy blush in her cheeks popped in. She had a lush mop of shiny chestnut hair and wore an exotic blend of clothes hinting at her wide travel experience. In the hot kitchen, she quickly pulled off her warm leather jerkin and threw it onto an empty stool.

She cast a non-too-curious glance at both men and broke off a piece of bread. Then she leaned to peek into several cooking pots and finally nodded to Don. Curiously enough, the latter did not object to her poking into his domain.

“’Sup, guys?” she mumbled, munching on the bread. She obviously recognized the Herald, but made no fuss about it, instead she kept rummaging through the shelves and in the cupboard.

Don sighed.

“We are running out of saffron. Care doing something about it?”

The girl turned to him with a displeased look on her cute face.

“Look, gimme a break! I’ve just returned from the marshes where I was looking for your damn sedgecane! And you know well how I hate mosquitoes!”

The cook sighed with exasperation.

“Just buy it for once! I’m sure that the ambassador has plenty of contacts!”

The girl turned to him with her hand on her hip and a defiantly raised brow.

“Hah! And then you will drill my skull numb for providing something of mediocre quality?! I’m not suicidal!”

The chef growled and paused.

Then he thought it over and sighed:

“All right, you may rest until Tuesday…”

The girl mockingly bowed to him.

“Thank you, master!” then she shook the gnawed-on piece of bread crust and asked: “Do I get something to eat here, or you want me to starve to death?!”

Don rolled his eyes and set to cook again.

The girl took a seat at the table and extended her hand to the amused Herald.

“Hi, I’m Valery, Val for short. Seen you brought in a Gamordan? Massive beast!”

Tom beamed.

“Yeah, mean affair! But it was totally worth it!... So, are you a purveyor of some kind?”

Valery nodded.

“Yep, I’m slaving for Donatien here…”

The cook turned to them and grumbled:

“Oi! Don’t you listen to her! She’ll tell you wild stories until your ears fall off!”

The girl grinned.

“Hah! Just don’t believe him! He slaves me as if he owned me! We aren’t in Tevinter any longer, Zuppa!”

The chef frowned and wagged his finger menacingly.

“If I hear that nickname once again, you’ll be kicked outta here without any meal!”

Valery rolled her eyes, turned her face from the cook, and screwed up her face mockingly.

“Yes, daddy!” then she leaned onto the tabletop to get closer to the Herald and whispered: “He hates it when reminded of his less glamorous days!”

Tom refrained from inquiring further on the subject, because Don already put a steaming plate of something delicious in front of the mouthy girl, and his cooking ladle was dangerously close to her face.

The chef looked at the Herald watching them and smirked:

“She’s quite a handful, this chipmunk!”

Now, the girl flared with indignation.

“Oi, who’s now calling names!”

Don cackled and sat at the table.

“Just a small settling of scores!”

Valery swallowed a mouthful of airy cauliflower mousse, moaned, and looked at the cook.

He was sitting quietly, observing her as if waiting for the verdict.

The girl nodded with a look of a connoisseur.

“Now I know why you need saffron… The mousse’s pretty good, but it lacks… yeah, ok, you got me.”

The cook spread his palms demonstratively as if saying “I told you.”

The Herald was obviously enjoying the couple’s spirited exchange, and he laughed softly.

“You both remind me of my brother bickering with his wife! The same sparks flying! Makes me feel almost at home!”

The chef shot a bewildered gaze at the girl, then returned his gaze to the Herald and laughed out loud:

“Oh, you thought we were a couple? Maker forbid me!... Ouch!” he exclaimed when kicked in the shin by Valery, and elaborated: “This pest isn’t my wife, Andraste have mercy, she’s my little sister!”

The girl made a wry face and grumbled to the Herald:

“Nice move on finding out the nature of our relationship! Just don’t expect me to suck your dick any time soon!”

The cook angrily hissed: “Valery!” while Tom curved his brow to show his shock.

Then he cleared his throat and said, trying to refrain from giggling:

“Yes, Valery, this is absurd! I will not move you to the front of the line just because you are the chef’s sister!”

The girl nodded gravely, accepting his response, and uttered in a dignified manner:

“Good. The issue’s settled then. Now, can you tell me about that Gamordan fight? Where did you find her?”

And the friendly chitchat went on well into the evening when the Herald was finally found by his advisors and whisked away from the warm kitchen and its friendly hosts.

Cullen frowned and looked at Josephine.

“Do we really need to venture so far south into the basin? On a wild goose chase?”

The ambassador shook her head.

“Professor Bram Kenric is a true visionary in his field. If he says that by helping him in the Frostback basin we can strengthen our position across Thedas, then I tend to believe him. The Inquisitor Ameridan is a prominent figure in Orlesian history, and if we do associate with him, our Inquisition gets much more credibility than we are having now. And, needless to say, we cannot refuse any additional help to fight Corypheus!”

The Herald sighed.

“Please, Josie, how many times must I remind you that once we deal with Corypheus and the rifts, I’m done playing the Chosen One, and I couldn’t care less for the Inquisitor title along with his predecessors. I have asked you to convey to everyone across the continent that the Inquisition is a sole-purpose organization. I close the rifts, we deal with the madman who created them and we are done, I go home. Your goal is not to enhance our credibility by tying us to some historical figure, which is nonsensical, by the way, but to make people understand that we happen to be the only ones standing a chance against Corypheus. You have to make the connection for them between the rifts and this ancient horror. Make them understand who caused this disaster.”

Lady Montilyet nodded.

“I am doing my best, your Worship…”

Tom wrinkled his nose but did not comment on the irritating title.

“The message must be clear. Demons come because of Corypheus. Full stop. I have the anchor to close the rifts. Full stop. No intention to linger. Full stop.”

Leliana nodded, attracting attention.

“Of course, Josie is doing her best. We all do. I am sure she thoroughly weighted her decision to ask you to go search for Inquisitor Ameridan, given your tight schedule. I am convinced that information on him will greatly help her do her job even better.”

The Herald eyed his spymaster attentively, then rubbed his face and said in a resigned voice:

“All right. On a bright side, it’ll be a break from the usual Venatori shenanigans! Let me have a concert here in Skyhold, and then we can set out towards the south!”

Cassandra looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“Why would we need a concert here? I thought it works only for damaged land?...”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s an experiment. It cannot hurt either way. Plus, it’s a pleasant respite for all people doing their stuff here.”

The advisors exchanged perplexed glances. Dorian explained enthusiastically:

“Recently, Tom acquired an awesome ability to restore the land after its exposure to disasters such as rifts, war, and blight. And it involves all people around, so it’s like a huge concert where all participants do this... magic, for lacking a better word. You’ll see, it’s awesome!”

Solas stirred, interested.

“But Thomas is not a mage! So how does it work? Is it another ability of the anchor?”

The Herald put a hand on the elf’s shoulder, smiling.

“You’ll see in due time. Josie, could you please announce that in a week, we will be throwing a feast in the honor of the late Gamordan? Notify the kitchens, the soldiers, the masons, the traders, everyone.”

The ambassador nodded, taking notes, as usual.

Tom nodded.

“Awesome. Now we can return to other matters at hand…”

**-O-**

The Herald felt that he was getting better and better at channeling the united spirit of the gathered people into the land. This time, at Skyhold, he was feeling powerful currents of emotion running through him and pouring into his voice that resonated across all the surrounding mountains, crumbling the snow peaks and orchestrating avalanches. The scenery was… godly in its majesty.

When the last sound died out, and the people were slowly returning to their senses, he saw Solas finding his way across the crowd, eyes wide, fixed on the Herald.

From Tom’s standpoint, they both marveled at the spreading wave of change and invigoration throughout the landscape at their feet. The transformation was obvious to the naked eye – the land awakened and brimmed with life.

“Now, this...! I don’t even know what to call it...!” whispered the elf in amazement. “I’ve never encountered anything like this before! What is it, and how did you come across it, Thomas?”

Tom nodded, as if he had expected this question, and dutifully answered:

“This technique was described in the documents that the islander River brought me some time ago. Finally, our Dagna deciphered a washed-out portion of the text, and it says that none other than the Hero of Ferelden dictated this text to the scribe, who had to bring it to me. But, due to a shipwreck, the messenger deceased, and the only thing he managed to say was that he was supposed to bring these papers to the Herald of Andraste.”

“A sad story to be sure,” said Solas thoughtfully. “And it means that the Hero of Ferelden is somewhere very far indeed…”

The Herald nodded.

“Very far.”

The rest of the feast rolled out in high spirits. People were cheering the Inquisitor, songs broke out sporadically at the tables, and a feeling of general merriment was permeating the hall.

Tom found his new friend the head cook and vigorously shook his hand.

“You’ve outdone yourself, chef! The feast rocks!”

Don nodded and laughed good-naturedly.

“Frankly, when you sang tonight, I thought I would cry from the bottom of my heart, it was so… beautiful! And when the land started to turn all blossomy, that was… magical...! I was… stunned...!”

For several minutes, the cook tried to express his overwhelming emotions, when his foxy sister found them and pushed aside the great curtain that was obscuring them from the general view at the hall.

“Ah, there you are...!” she exclaimed jovially, and both men smiled at her. “Tom, your performance was awesome! I cried all my tears out! It was beautiful, man!”

She hugged him affectionately and then started fumbling in her pockets.

“Where did I put it…” she mumbled, rummaging inside her clothes. “Ah, finally!”

And she produced a crocus-type flower.

“I found this after your concert. This is better than saffron, this is better than live gold!!!”

Her brother snatched the flower from her hand and feverishly studied it.

“Can’t be! Is this… wow! This is Andraste’s Lashes, isn’t it?! Wow!!!”

While her brother was staring mesmerized at the rare specimen, Valery explained to the bewildered Herald:

“This is a legendary flower that is said to possess incredible powers of restoration and rejuvenation…” she paused and added pensively: “if I were you, I’d send this flower to the Hero of Ferelden to thank her for the gift…”

Tom frowned, instantly becoming serious, and gravely nodded.

“I hear you. This is a very good idea for sure!”

By midnight, they managed to find the spymaster. She was deep in conversation with her friend Josephine, and she did not look especially pleased when interrupted by the Herald and his kitchen friends.

The Herald accosted her without any ado.

“Lily, I will need all the information on the shipwreck that brought me the papers. I need a lead on the Hero of Ferelden. And postpone our trip to the Frostback Basin.”

Leliana looked at him appraisingly, then gravely nodded.

“I will assign my best agents to the task, your Worship.” Then she evaluated his company at a glance but said nothing, probably judging the matter too trivial for her level. However, her gaze lingered a fraction of a second longer than necessary on the chestnut-haired girl, but the Herald demonstratively hugged both siblings, thanked the spymaster, and left.

“Get your ass here, you lousy chipmunk!”

Don was furious.

Valery left the bottle of wine where she found it and sprinted to the exit of the wine cave.

Contrary to her brother’s angry summons, she swiftly ascended the stairs to the main floor and ran to the library, where she ran up another flight of stairs and ended up in a cozy alcove for fastidious readers.

The swarthy mage caught her on the run and laughed:

“Now that’s what I call a run-in! Who are you trying to escape, darling dear?”

Valery made sure that her brother did not pursue her up the stairs and exhaled in relief.

“Whew, sorry for barging into you like this! My slaver is in a nasty mood this morning!”

Dorian frowned.

“Your slaver? I thought there were no slaves outside Tevinter…”

The girl shook her head gravely.

“Oh, don’t believe everything they say! He will skin me alive!!!”

The mage raised his brow, still finding the situation preposterous.

“But what have you done, sweet thing?”

The girl sighed.

“I forgot the cassoulet on fire, and not only the dish is ruined now but so is the pot. And for that, I’m a dead woman!”

The mage laughed mirthfully.

“Ah! Such a disaster! Come, let me remedy your tragedy!”

The girl nodded, and all traces of distress instantly got wiped off her cute face.

“Thank you!... While I’m here, I’d like to find some information on Sumaq, it must be somewhere in the Herbology section…”

“Sumaq? Like the one used in Tevene meze dishes?”

She nodded.

“Exactly.”

They reached the kitchens in a couple of hours, after having thoroughly discussed and compared their travel experiences and flavor preferences.

Don was not fuming anymore but, upon seeing his sibling, he fished the ruined pot out of the trash basket and threw it at her.

The mage sighed and murmured a spell. Another wriggling of his hand, and the pot stood there as shiny and perfect as on the first day of its creation.

The head cook stared at the miracle speechless for a few moments, then silently nodded at the mage and asked his sister:

“So, what’s on Sumaq?”

Valery grinned peevishly.

“No ‘thank you’ to the savior of your precious pot, eh?”

Don glared at her.

“If not for you…” he did not end his sentence and turned to Dorian. “Thank you for repairing the pot. I really appreciate it, but right now, I need to talk to my sister here. I will send you a nice compliment later.”

The mage nodded, grinned at the girl, showed her his clasped hands, mouthed: “Hold on,” winked at her, and went out of the kitchen.

The chef turned to face his sister.

“Now, what can you say in your defense?”

Valery shrugged her shoulders, absolutely unimpressed by her brother’s wrath.

“I was searching for the perfect wine to go with fleurs de rosier cakes, and I almost found it, when you started yelling at me. Just imagine, they’ve got Cassis de Lion here, 7 oh one vintage! A perfect blend of berries and spice flavor! Absolutely to die for!”

Almost against himself, the head cook got carried away with his sibling’s information.

“Oh, I always thought these cellars held quite a few rarities...!”

All squabbles forgotten, the two ventured into the underlying caves…

**-O-**

“Ah! Just the person I wanted to find!” the Inquisitor caught up with Valery, hugged her by the shoulders, and synchronized his pace with hers. “Are you up to some mischief, my dear?”

The girl grinned, and her clever green eyes glinted with live interest.

“Name it, oh, father of lies!”

Tom brought his face to her ear but got distracted by her smell as he drew the air in to speak.

“You smell divine,” he murmured instead, burying his face in her hair.

“Watch it! Or people might think that you are flirting with me!” giggled Valery, her eyes sparkling dangerously.

“Let them,” purred the Herald in her ear. “I was never afraid of idle gossip. But this vanilla, pine, and red berry scent is driving me crazy! I almost forgot what I wanted to tell you.”

The girl laughed and nudged him away.

“Then hurry up and tell it, before you forget!”

The man smiled, looking her in the eyes with a mixture of affection, playfulness and pensiveness.

“Sera and I were going to make fun of our commanding staff, but I thought it would be unfair to do it without you, the biggest mischief-maker of Skyhold…”

Amused, Valery stared at him in the face.

“And why am I suddenly ‘the biggest mischief-maker,’ pray tell me?”

The Herald shrugged his shoulders.

“Don told me about the hot pepper in the sweet buns and the flour on Cassie’s seat… And Dorian told me…”

“All right, I got it!” interrupted him Valery, going slightly pink in her cheeks. “So, what are you, guys, up to?”

Tom shrugged.

“Just a few pranks to lighten the mood…”

Valery finally nodded.

“Count me in!”

***

Sera was uncharacteristically agitated, so as to say she was agitated more than usual.

“I’m telling you, she’s totally into me! And she’s so awesome!”

The Herald was not happy about introducing Valery to Sera. Now, all he was hearing from Sera was about her new acquaintance. The elf rogue was pestering the man with all sorts of questions about Valery, remarks on how the girl looked in this or that situation, or just some wild conjectures based on Valery’s words or glances.

Finally, the Herald broke the string of Sera’s babbling and took off to take refuge in the stables where the elf was a no-go.

Blackwall accosted him as soon as Tom appeared near his beautiful Rivaini horse.

“Hey, your Worship…”

“Hey yourself, Warden.”

The Grey Warden was visibly uneasy.

“I was wondering… I heard you were planning a trip to Seheron in search for the Hero of Ferelden…”

The Herald nodded.

“Yes, that was the idea. At least if nothing more urgent pops up in the meantime…”

Blackwall nodded and blurted out:

“Can I go with you? If we meet her, it would mean so much to me, you have no idea!”

The Herald nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

“Why, I see no problem taking you there. At least Cassie would be relieved, that’s for sure.”

The Warden shook his head.

“Still avoiding you after the Exalted Plains?”

The Herald sighed.

“Sort of. I was stupid enough to flirt with her without meaning it. So now she is sulking. But she’s like family, you know? When she looks at me all I see is that 12-year-old piglet, who got heartbroken over the death of her brother, my best friend! I still feel… guilty… you know? There was no fault of mine, but still, it’s awkward somehow…”

Blackwall nodded knowingly, and the two men just spent another hour silently caring for horses under the watchful eye of master Dennet.

Leliana stretched leisurely and yawned. The sun was already filtering through the eastern window, and the crows took to wing in the chilly morning air.

The Herald was still sleeping, and the spymaster decided not to wake him up.

However, as she pensively examined his handsome features, an unpleasant feeling was gnawing at the back of her mind.

True, the man had never declared any special feelings for her, and their relationship could be best described as an itch that they scratched from time to time, but still, when left one-on-one, Tom had been always considerate to her, caring, and generally very agreeable.

But since his return from the blasted Exalted Plains, he grew a bit distant, distracted. The change was subtle, almost impalpable, but it was there, the spymaster did not have to use her professional skills to prove it because her woman’s intuition was loud and clear about it.

Cassie became moody, more than usual, and clammed up at any conversation about the Exalted Plains. So, something did happen between them there… And yet, it did not sound right to Leliana. She just could not put her finger on it yet…

Trevelyan opened his eyes and smiled at Leliana.

“You already awake…” he articulated in a croaky voice and began pleasurably stretching.

The woman shrugged her shoulders languorously and purred:

“Always. That comes with the job. Are you planning on taking the Iron Bull to Seheron?”

The Herald shook his head.

“The Bull told me everything there is to know about Seheron but isn’t coming, for obvious reasons.”

“So, Blackwall then?... Oh, don’t look at me like that, I just spoke to Cassie last night. And what about mages? Dorian or Solas?”

The Herald rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Maybe both. Dorian makes a merrier company than Solas on long journeys, but Solas wanted to talk to the Hero about the land restoration technique.”

Leliana sighed and sat near him.

“Still not taking Vivienne anywhere?”

The man rolled his eyes.

“That scheming bitch? Why would I?”

Leliana laughed and stroked his stomach.

“ ** _You_** are the scheming bitch, and she is just a typical mage making efforts to survive in a hostile world.”

The Herald snorted and pulled the woman closer to him.

“Come, you are of an acid mood this morning. You need a ride…”

The team consisted of Thomas, Dorian, Solas, Varric, Blackwall, Valery, and a couple of linguists. They were royally greeted in all taverns across the Frostback ridge, and their journey was unfolding rather smoothly until they finally reached the sea and boarded an eastbound ship.

First of all, Dorian bemoaned his fate at the slightest occasion and was continually getting drunk. Varric and both linguists were constantly green around the gills and also relied heavily on local rum. Other travelers proved to be mediocre players at the Wicked Grace, and Blackwall was not of a talkative sort. Valery was cranky and bored out of her mind.

Only Solas and the Herald, contrary to all expectations, seemed to be in a positive mood, at least they accepted the inconveniences of their journey with the ease of seasoned travelers. They sparred a lot each day and generally got along surprisingly well.

In the evenings, the company used to half-heartedly play Wicked Grace and strike laid-back conversations.

Valery was clueless about the game, and the Herald was making perfunctory efforts at teaching her.

“See, we are having a very promising pair here,” he was whispering in her ear while holding her by the shoulders and keeping his cards close to her face. “Now, if we led them to believe that we have a three…”

Valery looked mortified. She couldn’t care less about the cards.

“Tom, have you noticed that since we started this journey, you began hugging me several times a day? Don’t you find it… I don’t know, odd?”

The Herald displayed a crooked smile.

“If I don’t bring you back to your brother, he promised to fillet me in the most unpleasant manner. So, I’m just making sure that you are safe and sound, and close-by.”

“Uh-huh,” she hummed, totally unconvinced. She refrained from looking at him because she was afraid that a spontaneous giggle would escape her. “The father of lies is back! Be aware that I will be sleeping with Dorian tonight! At least he is sure not to have any ideas on my behalf!”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders but did not even think of removing his arm.

“Are you against my hugs? Then is it true what Sera told me about you?”

Valery frowned.

“What did she tell you?”

Tom put his elbow on the tabletop and leaned on it so as to better see Valery’s face. His poker-face reeked of mischief.

“She told me that you must be like her… preferring girls…”

Valery let out a loud disgusted noise.

“I am seasick as it is, and now you are telling me this! You want me to puke on your lap?! Couldn’t come up with a less unsavory gossip?”

The Herald grinned.

“So, is it a ‘no’? You are not attracted to girls?”

Valery glared at him.

“No!”

Dorian sighed, put his cards face down on the table, and poured himself another glass of wine.

“So, my new sleep mate, are you a virgin?”

Valery looked at him quizzically.

“I thought you cleverer than that, Dorian.”

The mage made a vague gesture with his hand before putting his cheek onto his palm and purred:

“Do tell, I must know before we go to bed together…”

The girl snorted:

“Don’t make me laugh, you couldn’t care less.”

Dorian shrugged.

“Me – yes, but I’m sure that my chaps here would be quite interested.”

Valery cast a quick glance at her companions.

“If they are so interested, then they could ask it themselves.”

The silence grew awkward, and the Herald sighed, put his head on her shoulder, and murmured soothingly:

“Don’t mind us, we are all bored and drunk.”

“So am I!” exclaimed Valery, then paused and said in a controlled voice: “Virginity was the first thing I got rid of when I learned that I would be traveling far and wide to take care of… things... I just did not want to have rape as my first time.”

The silence grew even more awkward. All men on the team adored Valery, and her confession made them clench their jaws and fists.

Tom took her hand and kissed it.

“Sorry I asked.”

He put his cards on the table and stood up.

“I’m not in the mood to play anymore,” he uttered and went to the quartermaster for another jug of wine.

Varric shook his head regretfully.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, this silly conversation just got out of hand…”

Valery winked at him.

“Don’t be so sad, dear, I’m okay. I did not think twice about it until you asked. My sharp tongue usually keeps me out of the worst sort of trouble.”

The Herald returned with a flagon of wine and poured it into all cups.

“Here, to Val and her sharp tongue!” he raised his glass and nodded to the girl.

She grinned and took hers.

“To the masters of casual conversation!”

All men chuckled uneasily and emptied their glasses.

Oddly enough, the evening continued on more smoothly, more warmly and it brought the team together even more than ever before.

They switched to a game of dice.

The Herald laughed.

“I never imagined that when you’re tipsy you start being less outspoken,” he smiled at Valery, who was leaning cozily on Blackwall.

The girl dismissed him with a lazy gesture.

“Oh, you and your incessant analysis! Quit that already!”

“Yes, ma’am! Then tell me, why did you choose Blackwall over me as your headrest?”

She grinned.

“Because he wears a nice padded gambeson, quite comfortable! If you sit beside me, I might choose you as my leg-rest!”

A sly smile appeared on the Herald’s face.

“Oh, no, dear, you really shouldn’t… Don’t give me access to your legs!”

Men knowingly grinned, and Valery laughed:

“I know you better than that! You only do those chicks who spread the legs themselves!”

Thomas tensed a bit; his gaze grew fiery.

“Val, that’s unfair. What do you want me to do, permanently stand at attention in front of you with my dick so hard that it’s painful to bear it…? We are just good friends, but I took no women into my bed in those taverns we visited on our way to the port, even those who were very insistent. So, tell me, who is spreading his legs here?”

No one was prepared to witness such brutal honesty, and the people at the table grew silent.

Valery sat straight. Her intoxication evaporated instantly.

She was frowning and biting her lips while looking into the Herald’s slightly dilated pupils.

She tried to speak but her voice failed her. She cleared her throat and said to him in a barely audible whisper, trying to retain some countenance:

“If you are rejecting them to please me…”

But the Herald interrupted her:

“I am rejecting them because I do not want them. I want you.”

Dorian loudly exhaled, mumbled: “Here we go…” and, biting his lips, poured himself a full glass of whiskey.

The Herald stood up, downed his glass of wine in one gulp, put it on the table with a loud thud, and said:

“Sorry to have ruined your evening, guys. I’d better go sleep it off.”

And, without looking at anybody, he left.

Valery, feeling hot in her cheeks, asked the dwarf:

“Varric… Um… Is this… Is there another wager you are playing at **_my_** expense now? Because I’m very well acquainted with the story of that islander, River…”

The dwarf shook his head, still stunned.

“No, Val, I swear to you! I would never have thought… I had no idea… he never breathed a single word on how he feels about you… not a glance…”

Dorian grunted an approval, cheered sarcastically to the surprises of the evening, and drank his glass as if it was filled with water.

Valery seemed anxious, trying to make some sense in this situation.

“This looks terribly like a déjà vu!” she muttered and rose from the table. “If you so much as bet a penny on this mess, think about people having access to your food. And think twice!”

She left the room and intuitively followed the corridor to the upper deck.

There he was, leaning on the mast and looking forward into the blackness of the night. He seemed calm, but Valery noticed that he had removed his bun and let his hair fall loose – a sure sign of fatigue or strain.

She cleared her throat and carefully came closer.

He looked at her, then lowered his head to stare at his feet and asked aloud, covering the crashing waves:

“I fucked up yet again, didn’t I? Like that boy who cried ‘Wolf!’ Now you don’t believe me and think that I’m manipulating you, right?”

He made an effort to tear his gaze from his shoes and looked at the girl.

Valery swallowed and made another step toward him.

“Guys think it would be foolish enough to try that trick on me. After all, I am the one gathering herbs, and my brother has access to all your food…”

Tom managed a weak smile.

“Point taken,” he laughed mirthlessly.

They stood on the deck in silence for a couple of minutes, until Valery said again:

“Why are you being so glum? Like if someone told you that your favorite hamster just died.”

The man scoffed unwillingly.

“A hamster, huh? Yeah, seems like it.”

The girl parted her palms:

“Exactly! Looks ridiculous, you know!”

He sighed and looked at her in a more cheerful manner.

“Now I know, thanks for elucidating me.”

“I’m sorry I called those women ‘chicks’ and talked about spreading legs, it’s derogatory both for them and for you. There is nothing wrong with having sex.”

Thomas nodded.

“Yeah. I thought as much. Apology accepted.”

Valery inclined her head and offered with a smile:

“So, if you are done sulking, maybe let’s return into the warmth of the mess room?”

The Herald cringed.

“Maker, I feel so silly!”

Valery patted him on the arm and said soothingly:

“There-there, we all tend to do lots of stupid stuff when drunk. Let’s go, or they’ll start thinking things…”

Trevelyan frowned:

“Do you care about what they think?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Not really, but they are our friends, and I would not want to have any misunderstanding between us. If one day we end up sleeping together, I will not try to hide it from them.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully.

“Fair enough,” he uttered and followed his friend to the exit from the deck.

Dorian, royally sloshed, fumbled in bed, trying to find the best pose, but the bed was rather narrow, and he always ended up cuddled against the girl.

Having abandoned his efforts, he sighed, put his hand and his thigh on her torso, and breathed in her cheek:

“You’ll be my Herald, by association…”

Valery giggled.

“Sure, Dorian. Whatever puts your boots on.”

The mage sighed again.

“Silly girl! Why do you keep avoiding Tommy? He’s gorgeous…”

She shrugged, turned to him, and stroked his temple. Her eyes were gleaming with naughtiness.

“Kiss me and I’ll tell you. Pretend that you are kissing him…”

Dorian growled.

“Bad, bad girl…”

But he did not resist and started kissing her on the mouth.

One thing led to another, and, soon, they were rummaging under the blanket with much enthusiasm.

And the night did not suddenly seem so dull.

In the morning, Dorian tentatively opened one eye and looked at the sleepy girl beside him.

“You still haven’t told me why…”

“Ah!” she mumbled, turning in bed. “The same reason he fucks all those random chicks. He doesn’t want to invest in a relationship. Neither do I.”

The pair emerged in a sorry state from their cabin into the mess room, with their hair tousled, grayish skin, and bags under the eyes.

Dorian heavily dropped onto a seat and moaned pitifully. Valery dropped next to him and unceremoniously put her legs on his lap. The mage was completely resigned and would not care even if she sat on his neck.

The Herald looked at them appraisingly and asked sarcastically, pouring them some tea:

“Slept well? You both look a bit crumpled around the edges…”

The mage hissed:

“Kaffas! I will cast scabies on this ship’s quartermaster! His whiskey is worse than Avvar moonshine! It’s like having drunk some dwarven industrial alcohol after it has been used for washing a drill turbine!”

Thomas shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, mixing it with wine wasn’t the brightest idea either…”

Dorian peeked under the table and lightly pushed snoring Varric with the tip of his boot.

“This one did not even go to bed, did he?”

The Herald sighed and took a butter knife to spread jam on his toast.

“No, but Blackwall fully made up for his absence. I could not hear myself snoring for his roulades. Val was wise to avoid our merry duo.”

He glanced at the girl askance, but she was totally carefree and busy collecting food into her plate.

Dorian fumbled through small pastries, shrugged, and said in cold blood:

“Ah, my company suited me fine. I don’t plan on kicking her out of my bed any time soon. She doesn’t snore, she takes up less space than a man, and she does blow-job rather well…”

The following happened simultaneously: The Herald choked heavily on his tea, spraying it all around, Valery kicked the mage hard in the side and yelled: “Dorian!!!” and Varric jumped up under the table and hit his head on the tabletop and cursed loudly.

Having coughed up everything that went down the wrong pipe, Tom wiped his tears to see Valery furiously kicking and hitting the mage, and the dwarf’s head poking from under the table with astonishment written all over his face. At the same time, both their linguists appeared in the mess room and cheerfully shouted: “Ta-daaaa!” as if continuing the stupid game that they were playing last night.

The Herald winced, rubbed his face and head, and muttered:

“This ship is damned!”

He observed the fight for a spell, and then he suddenly loudly hit the tabletop with his palm.

“Enough!”

He rose from his seat, leapt over the table, and punched Dorian square in the face, breaking his nose. Then he cast a cursory glance at Valery, the dwarf, the linguists, and grabbed the stunned mage by the collar.

“Let’s go, I’ll have a word with you on the meaning of respect!” he growled and pulled the mage from behind the bench.

The rest of the week went down very quietly. The Herald communicated mainly with Solas and Blackwall, they could be seen for long hours at the main deck, sparring, or staring at the horizon, or performing an odd slow dance of synchronized movements and gestures; Dorian was nursing his broken nose and complaining to Varric, who also found time to keep company to Valery, and the pair of linguists kept company to each other.

By now, Valery knew every nook and cranny of the ship, she was acquainted with all sailors, the cook, the quartermaster, and their captain along with the boatswain, she read twice her shabby herbology book, learned by heart the whole list of available foodstuffs, and borrowed Dorian’s collection of poetry in Tevene.

The mage grumpily made up with her and even conceded to teach her the northern accent. She also learned from him a couple of cool bed tricks and a solid vocabulary of Tevene swear words.

Out of boredom, the team started helping sailors, and soon they picked up quite a few bits of practical nautical knowledge.

Soon, the company began noticing that the Herald was up to something. He was seen conversing in low voices with the captain, the crew, and with Solas. Then, one morning, his companions found a few sailors decorating the mess room.

“Uh-oh!” mumbled Dorian and took Valery by the waist. “Let’s disappear for a while, I don’t like where this is going…”

And he pulled her away into their cabin.

Once there, Valery turned to the mage and asked:

“What’s your guess?”

But Dorian was preoccupied with another matter; he shook his head and sighed.

“Out of twenty or so sailors and a dozen deck-boys, none is taking graciously my advances! This is unbelievable! A whole straight crew, that’s mathematically improbable!”

But Valery was unperturbed.

“Oh, no worries, your statistics won’t work here, for they just throw such men overboard as soon as they catch them. So, no one, even if gay to the gills, will help you out here. It’s a hierarchy thing – the alpha-male and the crew.”

Completely devastated, Dorian moaned and pulled the girl towards him.

“So, am I stuck with you?” even if his voice was deliberately rough, his eyes were betraying a kind of reserved affection when he was looking at her.

Valery grinned.

“Oh, you can always resort to…” she wagged her fist in a suggestive manner.

The mage scoffed and pinched her side.

“You naughty thing!”

Dorian started roughly kissing her, and soon they ended up abusing the bed.

In the evening, the Herald gathered his team and explained to them:

“We’ll attempt at harmonizing this ship and our itinerary the same way we harmonized the earth at Skyhold. Because, frankly, the things here got out of hand in a very wrong way. So, you will be asked to join me tonight in singing and… try to have fun.”

He nodded to them and went on to prepare for the performance.

His men exchanged glances, a few cleared their throats, others rubbed their hands in anticipation.

**-O-**

“I don’t give a hoot what the Compte wants! Might as well be the Black Divine himself!” Donatien was decorating food on the plate while Josephine was standing in front of him, her inseparable clipboard clenched tight against her chest.

In exasperation, she balled up her fists and repeated:

“But he expressly required the pine-fish! Is it so hard to do it without the lemongrass? I’m sure it can be replaced! And the Compte will be none the wiser!”

The head cook looked at the ambassador with his lucid blue eyes and replied very clearly in his deep voice:

“But I will know.”

He put a couple of tiny purple flowers on top of his confection and signaled to a kitchen elf to take the plate away.

“Lady Josephine, the Compte will have to content himself with my other creations. He might as well discover something new. But I will not butcher the taste of a dish just because he wants it. End of story.”

The ambassador almost roared in despair, her eyes sparkling.

“Of all the people in Skyhold, the Inquisitor and you are the most infuriating! Talking with you is like talking to a mule! Now I know why you became friends with Thomas, you are birds of a feather!”

Donatien grinned at the woman.

“I like it when you get angry. Makes you less boring.”

Lady Josephine was startled.

“Boring? Me?”

The head cook cackled and went to select a clean pot.

“Tell you what, let me cook you dinner, and we’ll see about that.”

The woman blushed.

“Oh. I’m afraid it would appear unseemly, master Donatien. But I appreciate the offering…”

And she made herself scarce under the raucous laughter of the chef.

When the ambassador disappeared, Don sighed and put away his knife.

“Where’s that wretched girl gone to?” he mused under his nose, wiped his hands on his apron, and opened the door giving to the courtyard.

His chap, a mage from Orlais, was nowhere to be seen.

The cook ventured outside, asking scouts and healers on his way. All were pointing in one direction – the tavern. Don sighed heavily and headed into the unseemly domain of old grease and stale ale.

He found the mage on the first floor along with a few other customers, nursing a pint of dark stout.

Judging by his looks, it was not his first pint today.

The cook approached him and nodded to his companions.

“What’s happened, Gil? You don’t look like yourself!”

Gilbert raised his eyes at the chef and sighed heavily.

“Oh, it’s you...!” he uttered, and his face darkened even more.

Slightly worried, Don sat next to his friend and said to him:

“I think now is the right time to spill the beans, Gil.”

The mage wiped his nose, took a gulp from his tankard, and sighed. Several minutes passed before he opened his mouth, but the chef knew better than to rush him.

“Well… you know… your daily requests to divine the state of your little sis just backfired…”

“Meaning?”

“Well… I wanted to see scout Harding’s whereabouts…”

Donatien frowned.

“What’s the connection to Val?”

Gilbert sniffed.

“You were so worried about her that I got worried about… you know… scout Harding… What a fool I’ve been!”

He sighed, took his time to drink his stout, and then continued:

“I saw her… in my vision… she was… ugh… drawing…”

“Yes?” interjected Don, losing his patience.

“She was drawing your buddy the Inquisitor!” finally blurted out Gil, his turmoil taking over him.

“Ah,” pronounced the chef, instantly relieved. The relief was palpable, he couldn’t be happier to know that it had nothing to do with his family. “So… well… you know her true feelings now, and, although hurtful, it takes you to firmer ground.”

His friend nodded and made a wry face.

“It doesn’t make it any less pleasant.”

The cook sighed and patted his chum on the back.

“Yeah… well… hold on, bud, it will pass.”

Gilbert nodded and grew silent for a while, then he took a few gulps from the tankard to take his mind off his nasty feelings, and made an effort to change the subject.

“Anyhow, this morning, I looked into your little sis’s environment, as usual, and I must tell that she’s doing quite all right on that ship…”

Don nodded thankfully and started to think about other things when his friend’s next question stalled him:

“I always thought that that Tevinter mage was into men though. Odd…”

Donatien blinked several times to gather his wits.

“What are you talking about, Gil?”

The mage shrugged his shoulders.

“Well… seems he has an affair with your Val. At least they surely sleep together…”

Don carefully exhaled and grew grim.

Gil cast an anxious glance at his friend and asked him tentatively:

“You do not happen to lick yellow frogs anymore, right? We are cool here, right?”

The cook looked at the mage and nodded absent-mindedly.

“Yeah, we are cool. Don’t worry, pally. I’m done with yellow frogs, as well as with liquids and powders. I came to Skyhold to leave it all behind.”

Gil nodded. He resolutely switched off the self-pitying mode and told his comrade:

“Good. That’s good. Your Val is a nice gal, she’s grown up and can do whatever she pleases…”

Don nodded.

“True, my friend. True…”

The mage observed his friend and decided that the worst of the chef’s temper subsided.

“You know, after you disappeared from the ‘Eaux de Rive Noire,’ everyone thought you were stabbed to death by your ‘spice’ dealers. Papa Orsillus was devastated. It was such a delight and such a relief to see you here, of all places! Valery did a good job on you. So, have a little faith in her. If she managed to pull you out of that story, she’ll do fine on a ship full of people admiring her. Your worries are groundless, Don, take a break, breathe deeply, and let her have fun with that Pavus guy.”

The chef managed to take a few deep breaths and visibly relaxed.

“Yeah. Thanks, Gil. You are my savior. I’ll go speak to the scout to clear the air. Don’t you worry, I can be subtle. You know women, they may draw a pretty face but fancy someone else entirely.”

Taking ‘no’ for an answer, the cook resolutely rose to his feet, hugged the mage affectionately, and took off in search of the dwarven scout.

**-O-**

It seemed the whole sea resonated with music. Gradually, the waves subsided into a gentle wash against the hull of the ship, the sky cleared, and bright evening stars took over the horizon.

People stood quietly, mesmerized at the changes that were taking place all around them. It was indeed like magic, but it had an incomparable live quality to it as if life itself was unfolding before them in a glowing flower of light.

The next morning, the Herald found Valery on the deck, reclining on a bench and reading a scroll. The man sat next to her feet, put his forearm on her flexed knees using them as an armrest, and leaned on the wall behind him.

“So, how are you feeling?” he asked nonchalantly, relaxing in the sun.

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, fine…”

At first, it seemed that she was not inclined to chat, but, after a pause, she said:

“Feeling calmer, less restless… Enjoying the weather – finally! Is it all your mumbo-jumbo doing?”

Trevelyan smirked but was too lazy to argue. Instead, he said:

“It seems that Dorian started to grow on you, however unlikely that may be…”

Valery shrugged carelessly, still trying to read.

“Anyway, it’s all temporary, until he finds himself a boy at our next port.”

A slight frown formed between the Herald’s brows.

“I still cannot figure it out… How are you guys doing it?”

The girl sighed and looked at him from the top of the scroll.

“Listen, Tom, drop it, will you? Or you will get us both upset.”

The Herald curved his brow.

“I beg your pardon? You – upset – me? Try harder next time.”

The girl scoffed, threw the scroll at him, and sat straight on the bench.

She grumbled none-too-angrily:

“I was lying nicely and comfortably here, and you just had to come and disturb me! You’re such an arrogant prick, Trevelyan!”

Not even acting offended, the man picked up the scroll from the floor, looked at the girl, and asked her calmly with a light smile:

“What’s stopping you, Val, from trying your charms on me? Are you afraid it will not work out? But life gives no guarantee. We are here to stumble, fall, make mistakes, get up, and move forward. And that’s your brother’s words…”

“Which I had told him in the first place…” whispered Valery in a voice stifled with sudden emotion. She raised her eyes at the Herald. “Thanks for reminding me.”

The Herald nodded. “That’s what friends are for.”

He patted her on the shoulder and rose to leave, but she caught his hand. She was hesitating, so, after a pause, the Herald uttered quietly:

“I have no intention to hurt you.”

Valery sighed and thrust herself at him as if she went for a dive, hugged him tightly, and buried her face on his shoulder. She slithered one hand beneath the collar at the back of his neck, feeling the silky-smooth tanned skin under her palm, and deeply inhaled his scent, relishing in his warmth.

Thomas hugged her as well, stroked her bushy hair, and privately smiled a happy smile.

Valery sighed and murmured:

“How can you be so manipulative and sound so sincere at the same time?”

He laughed.

“That’s a talent... I have this guy in my head, who constantly plays chess. Most of the time I can fairly easily predict what people will say or do…”

The girl squeezed him tighter and rubbed her face against his shoulder.

“And yet you express genuine interest in people, and you always stay yourself…”

He grinned.

“That’s what makes me so attractive, huh?” and, before her angry flare reached her fists, he added: “I find people fascinating. This light that shines through all their chess parties is unbelievable. Come, I’ll make you a sandwich, and then you’ll watch us train with Solas.”

“And does being a prick come with the package?”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Er… ok, I’m called that from time to time, but what do you mean in this case?”

Valery sighed.

“Earlier you said that you wanted me, and now that I conceded, you offer me a sandwich and a spectator’s role!”

The Herald’s lips stretched into a rubbery smile.

“You want me to squeeze in between you and Dorian?”

Valery frowned.

“I’m sure he would appreciate it.”

Thomas took a step back, patted the girl on the shoulder, and said:

“Let’s return to this later, shall we? If you want to join us with Solas, first, I’ll give you the papers to read.”

The girl angrily stomped her foot against the floor, snatched the scroll, and stormed out of the deck.

The Herald shook his head and went to fetch Solas.

**-O-**

At the spymaster’s lodge, Josephine was pacing to and fro.

“Imagine that! A cook! Proposing me a dinner as if I were some kitchen-maid! What a disgrace!”

Leliana laughed softly.

“Oh, dear Josie! You are so naïve! He did not ask you to marry him! I saw him, and he is one good stud, it would do you a world of good to have fun with him! And, mind you, he offered a dinner, not a bed!”

Lady Montilyet frowned, outraged.

“You… I… Who do you think I am, getting close to a commoner!”

A scout made a sign for Leliana from afar, and she went to him to pick up a note.

Half-listening to her friend’s rant, she opened the letter and scanned it through.

“Our Inquisitor has just passed the Silverite Horn, they are on their way to Caer Cramond for a pit stop.”

Josephine sighed.

“The guy is a diplomatic nightmare. But he can be so… exhilarating!”

The spymaster smirked.

“Exhilarating? Josie, what are you saying? That you like this son of a bitch who sleeps with anyone who so much as winks at him?”

Lady Montilyet shrugged her puffed-up shoulders.

“Ah, Lily, as if you didn’t know the morals of nobility! My own father has never been faithful to my mother, but look at us, I have many siblings, and all of us have grown into successful people…”

Leliana sighed and opted to switch the subject.

***

At last, Donatien removed his apron and sighed with satisfaction.

Another day well earned.

The elves were busy washing cooking pots, and his cooks were cleaning and stowing away their knives and utensils.

Then the team gathered around the main table to have their own supper. It was a tradition of sorts, to have a shared meal at the end of the day to relax and enjoy good food.

They were all laughing at someone’s joke when a secretary came in and went straight to the head cook.

“Master Donatien, you are summoned to the ambassador Montilyet.”

The chef sighed and stood up, while his crew started hooting and cheering.

Having made a sour face at them, he followed the secretary.

The fire was merrily crackling in the fireplace at the ambassadorial cabinet, and it was silent for once, no rushing secretaries or scouts, no uptight dignitaries or pompous noble brats.

The ambassador was sitting at her table and scribbling something, as was usual.

The secretary announced Donatien and left, leaving them alone.

Finally, the lady Montilyet put her signature on the document and raised her eyes at the chef.

“Ah, master Donatien! Thank you for coming. I wanted to announce to you that we have secured a shipment of very good Nevarran wine that will arrive in a week’s time to Skyhold. In the meantime, you will be able to find a suitable place for it in the citadel’s caves. I hope this will be an easy task for you, ser.”

Don frowned.

“Will there be a sommelier coming along with the wine? I’m stretched as thin as can be, and you promised me a good sommelier a month ago!”

Josephine looked displeased.

“Master Donatien, may I remind you that you’ve already fired four excellent sommeliers during the previous six months! One of them you fired on the next day. This is unacceptable!”

“He was a worthless piece of dwarven trash!”

“Was it because he was a dwarf?”

Don vigorously shook his head.

“No! This was because he drank a Chateau de Breville, worth 800 gold, alone, hiding in a cellar!”

The ambassador sighed.

“Ah yes, I remember that story… But the fact remains the same! You fire sommeliers too often!”

Donatien stubbornly inclined his head.

“I cannot work with mediocrity. You expect me to work wonders for the Inquisition guests and yet you deprive me of essential working conditions! Hire Jacques-Yves, or Pino, and I will be instantly happy! I’m essentially easy to please!”

The ambassador, who had been having the same conversations with the chef all over again, sighed in exasperation.

“I already told you a hundred times, both Jacques-Yves and Pino do not want to leave their places at the capital for any amount of money or services. Pino even went so far as to ridicule us asking to give him a batch of golden scallops as his first payment…”

Donatien instantly pricked his ears.

“Golden scallops, you say? But it’s not that impossible! They are very rare, like blue tuntaleons, one in a million, but they do exist. And your Herald prodigy is going in the right direction!”

**-O-**

The Herald screwed up his face.

“They’ve got to be kidding me! I won’t even know how to pronounce it! The golden scallops and blue what?”

He gave the letter back to the Inquisition liaison and put his arms akimbo. The liaison squinted at the word and looked perplexed.

The Herald shook his head then whisked the letter from the officer’s hand and went in search of the cook’s sister.

It was getting late, and the omnipresent jars of fireflies provided an eerie illumination that did not make his search any easier. The girl was notoriously hard to find these days in the sunny conditions, much less in the dusk.

But merry giggling coming from Dorian’s cabin tipped him off.

The Herald knocked and entered the cabin without waiting for a response.

The sight was at least eccentric – Dorian, dressed in a motley silk robe with large sleeves and wearing rather bright makeup, was drinking an extravagant-looking cocktail and telling some joke to Valery, who was sporting only a flimsy silk nightgown, her hair let loose to cover her whole back; she was busy painting her lips bright red and giggling.

“Woah! You are having a private party here!” exclaimed Thomas stopping short at the door.

Dorian parted his arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

“Just the person we needed for our little game!”

The Herald sighed and raised his finger.

“Just a minute! You’ve already had your head start, so indulge me and help me understand what Val’s dear brother wants from me…”

He waved the letter in the air and addressed the girl:

“Could you take a look at this letter, please?”

Valery evaluated him at a glance, unhurriedly took a sip from her own cocktail glass and asked the man:

“Is it urgent?”

“Yes.”

“Urgent because you want the answer right now, or is there a deck on fire?”

The Herald noisily exhaled, assessing the situation, and asked:

“What’s the game?”

Dorian clapped his hands happily and exclaimed:

“Truth or dare, obviously!”

Tom sighed.

“Ah, but of course. What are the rules?”

Dorian laughed and poured him a full glass of sherry.

“Good man! No more than three truths for you, we are fairly well acquainted with your exploits. If you refuse a dare then you drink a glass of sherry and I hold you by your crotch for one minute – I know you hate it. Deal?”

The Herald looked at him ironically.

“Five truths, like everyone else, just a glass of anything but sherry when refusing a dare, and at the end of round one Val takes a look at her brother’s chicken scratch.”

Valery sized him up and said:

“Just a glass of liquor won’t do. Dorian paws you or no deal.”

The Herald sighed.

“So, you agree to look at the letter?”

“Yes. Eventually. After round one.”

Tom nodded.

“All right. It’s a deal if you all ask nothing about Halamshiral and keep Dorian off my ass. In all senses.” He downed the sherry in one gulp and screwed up his face.

“Ugh! It’s fucking sweet! How do you drink it?!”

Dorian shrugged his shoulders.

“Ah, but there’s nothing else at the moment!”

Tom grimaced again, swore under his breath, and handed the glass to the mage. “Make me another one.”

Dorian happily obliged, then a rap on the door announced the arrival of the last partner – Varric.

“I haven’t found the… ah, there you are already!” he nodded at Tom and proceeded to the table.

A few bottles clanked in the dwarf’s bag, and he took them out along with some snacks and hors-d-oeuvres.

Enthusiastically, Tom grabbed a bottle of whiskey and put it next to him.

The mage rubbed his hands happily and exclaimed:

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s roll!”

He spun an empty bottle, and, somehow, predictably, it landed on Valery.

Dorian asked her pro forma:

“Truth or dare?”

She giggled.

“Dare, obviously!”

“Then fake orgasm for the person on your left!”

It was Varric, and Valery cast Dorian a dirty look. The latter laughed: “You want your punishment?”

The girl vigorously shook her head.

“And what’s her punishment?” asked Tom, intrigued.

“To eat a halaho pepper,” responded Dorian, checking himself in the mirror.

Tom’s eyes widened.

“Woah, that’s… I don’t know… cruel… or brave. Or both.”

“Exactly,” nodded the mage. “My punishment would be to remove Blackwall’s socks with my teeth…”

The Herald winced.

“Ouch! I’ve never seen the man remove his boots…”

Dorian sighed, resigned, and pointed at Varric.

“And he would have to endure chest hair removal. Our Val here has some wax strips, they would be enough for quite a few punishments…”

The dwarf nodded curtly, and, obviously uncomfortable with the prospect of epilation, prompted the girl:

“So, sweetie, when will I get your orgasm?”

The girl sighed, cleared her throat, and, looking in the dwarf’s eyes with a mischievous sparkle in her gaze, started moaning and breathing in an ascending tempo.

Varric grew red to the roots and bit his lip when Valery reached her crescendo. All in all, her performance had a rather enthusiastic reaction from at least two men. Tom coughed and poured a glass of whiskey for himself and the dwarf. They downed the liquor, grunted and exhaled, leaving Dorian to rule the game.

The mage grinned.

“Thank you, sweetie, this was a good one. Now, it’s Varric’s turn, we’ll go clockwise.”

Varric instantly said: “Truth!” as if he was afraid of what a dare could be.

“Are you having a hard-on?” asked him Valery, grinning perfidiously.

The dwarf sighed and nodded.

“Guilty as charged. Yes, I do. Next!” he looked at Dorian, who was enormously enjoying himself.

“Dare!” he exclaimed joyously.

The other three set to think. It was hard to invent a dare for a man who already infringed so many social standards that nothing would seem to embarrass him.

Finally, the Herald whispered: “I know!” in a delighted voice. Then he commanded: “Take off your robe, lay down on the floor, and act like a dolphin that’s gotten stranded on land for one minute.”

The mage acted shocked. “It’s humiliating!”

Thomas grinned at him. “That’s the idea. Or you want to go searching for Blackwall’s socks?”

The dolphin impersonation was so funny that the three partners in crime laughed until tears in their eyes, but when Dorian finally got up, the Herald understood that the mage was up to no good.

But, nevertheless, he said: “Dare!” and prepared for the worst.

Dorian looked him in the eye, and then suddenly something changed in the mage’s attitude. With a crooked grin, he said:

“Let Valery put makeup on you and dress you up in a silk robe.”

At first, Tom looked shocked, but then he resolutely downed another glass and braced himself as if preparing for torture.

The girl was delighted but then she looked hesitantly at the mage.

“Er… I don’t think I have anything that would fit him. He’s too big in the shoulders…”

The mage curved his brow.

“Then start with the makeup.”

She shrugged her shoulders, collected her paint pots and brushes, sat astride the man, and started to blacken the rim of his eyes. The Herald was a bit tense, but he kept quiet for the fear of something getting in his eye. The girl’s slim body was pressed against his stomach, and it gradually relaxed him a little.

She grew fully concentrated on her work. It took her a couple of minutes, and, finally, she moved back to let everyone see the Herald’s face. With black kohl rimming his eyes, he looked fiercely handsome, so much that both Dorian and Valery paused to contemplate him in awe. They did not expect the effect his appearance had on them.

“Now the lips…” murmured the girl, trying to distract herself from the man’s lucid clear eyes that now gleamed like two precious crystals on his face. “What do you reckon, the pink, or the red?” she asked her buddy, but the latter just stared at the Herald with enamored eyes.

“He looks so vulnerable…” murmured Dorian, approaching the man. Truth be told, Tom was in fact feeling a bit vulnerable, being put in an unfamiliar situation. He was apprehensive of Dorian’s enhanced attention and wary of Valery’s change of heart.

The mage just could not resist the urge to touch the mesmerizing face of the Herald. So, he took one of the girl’s pots, mumbled: “Let him shine!” and smeared glittering powder on Tom’s cheekbones, upper lip, and chin. As he made sure that his fingers made the longest possible contact with the Herald’s face, the latter froze as best he could for the fear of his own natural reaction getting the better of him. Semi-consciously, he gripped the girl’s hips as if holding on to them.

Now, Dorian’s fiery gaze could burn a hole in a wall, he was so excited by the shimmering face he was seeing before him. Valery tried not to scrutinize the Herald’s face too closely; she made a purposeful effort to stick to the technical side of the process, however hard it was due to his strong hands almost convulsively pressing her against his tense body. She fumbled with her pots and finally applied shiny liquid wine-red balm on the Herald’s lips.

“Oh – my – goodness!” whispered Dorian in a croaky voice. Trevelyan’s lips were now magnetic. The latter sighed and, judging the immediate danger to his frontispiece was gone, shifted into a more relaxed pose, and released the girl’s hips. He slightly licked his lips, very self-conscious because of the general attention.

“Now for accessories,” reminded Valery, but the longer she was sitting on his lap and the more she looked at the man the more she felt dazed. Almost beyond her control, she touched his jawline, then brushed his chest and abdomen with her palms and removed his jacket with a swift motion. Hot in her cheeks, she put a mottled silk scarf on his neck and reluctantly left his lap, her whole body vibrating. She moved carefully, as if afraid of making something terribly wrong, and sat down on her stool.

“Now, you promised me to take a look at the letter,” the Herald reminded her, fumbling in his pocket. Having decided that the dare was completed and having no idea what he looked like now, Tom resumed his usual behavior, thus unintentionally accentuating the dazzling effect he had on his two friends.

“Ah, yes,” the girl was glad for a distraction. She snatched the letter a bit too quickly and scrutinized her brother’s writing with exaggerated ardor.

“Ah, the blue tuntaleons! Good thinking, they are as rare as the morning stars, but Caer Cramond is a good bet. It’s closer to the Boetic Ocean, and tuntaleons thrive there…”

The Herald sighed.

“So, you know what he talks about? Good. Now it makes one of us. I hope you’ll help us find these… things…”

The girl grinned mischievously.

“Admit it, you don’t dare to pronounce ‘tuntaleons’!”

Tom scoffed.

“You bet I don’t, young lady. Now, it’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

Momentarily, she paused, and then said resolutely:

“Truth!”

“Chicken…” murmured Dorian, dousing his sherry in one gulp and flashing an intense gaze at the Herald.

Valery hissed at him:  
“Oh, shut up!” and sat there, arms crossed, staring into the void with a look of a martyr.

Trevelyan moaned:

“My left eye is itching. May I rub it?”

But he did not even have the time to finish his sentence when both Dorian and Valery exclaimed simultaneously: “NO!”

And the girl added: “So, what’s with the question?”

Tom sighed and looked at his partners.

Dorian was eyeing him with no reflection of any thought process marring his face, and Varric rolled his eyes:

“All right, sweety. Tell us about your most embarrassing date.”

Valery’s eyes flicked to the Herald, then she blushed and sighed, gathering her thoughts.

“Well… Okay… Um… ‘T was back home, I fancied this… um… boy… He worked at the stables, a nice, well developed red-headed guy… We really liked each other, but could not find a secluded enough place, because he was supposed to be constantly around, you know, in case someone wanted a horse saddled… So, we were making out in an empty pen, when his boss came in… I was ready to combust and escape in the form of smoke!”

The three men looked at each other, uncomprehending.

“So?” asked Dorian. “What was so embarrassing?”

Varric looked perplexed, the Herald squinted, trying to understand.

“Either you are not telling the whole story, or we missed something…” Tom murmured, pouring liquor to all of them.

Valery waved her arms in exasperation.

“But that’s the whole story, I swear! It was very… ugh! I understand that it’s nothing, but still… I was 14 and I was **_really_** embarrassed!”

Trevelyan shrugged his shoulders, sipping his drink, and asked carelessly:

“So, you are telling me that if I kiss you in front of these two chums you’ll try to combust in flames?”

“Oh, just you dare, and you’ll find out!” exclaimed the girl crossly and frowned, having stared at the man for too long. His face was disconcerting her.

Tom laughed mildly, amused by her reaction.

“All right. Gentlemen? Do we consider the case closed?”

The dwarf nodded, but the mage wrinkled his nose.

“Well, I still feel robbed!”

But Valery made a dirty gesture involving her two fingers and her tongue in the middle, which Dorian obviously understood well because he hurriedly exclaimed: “All right! Let’s move on!”

And the issue was put to rest.

Varric chose dare and had to perform a seductive brothel-style dance on Dorian’s lap. It was a roaring success, people laughed until tears in their eyes; Trevelyan finally smeared his makeup, Valery knocked off her glass from the table, and the mage accidentally made appear snowflakes in the room.

Remembering his last dare, Dorian chose the truth, but the question did not make him happy either.

“How did you like sleeping with me?” asked him Valery with a perfidious glint in her eye.

“Ah, you don’t snore, dear…” the mage tried at first the easy way out.

“You know full well that I meant sex!” the girl cut in sharply.

“Oh dear…” the mage sighed.

Now, he felt genuinely uneasy, because he was not ready to be truthful even with himself.

“Well… it was… all right, I suppose…”

The Herald reminded him:

“Are you ready for Blackwall’s socks yet?”

Dorian cringed and exclaimed defensively:

“You want to know how was it? It was sex! With lots of moaning and saliva, and sweat, and semen! That’s how it was! Would I have preferred a man? Yes, definitely, but it was still… satisfying!”

A bit offended but trying to put on a good face, Valery turned to the Herald and started deliberately carefully tidying his makeup with a handkerchief.

In his turn, Trevelyan stubbornly chose dare and downed a glass, waiting for his assignment.

Being in mean spirits, Dorian blurted out in irritation:

“I dare you to kiss me!” before anyone else could devise another task.

Tom groaned.

“Ah, the eternal question, mouth or crotch… Dorian, I hate you!”

He groaned again.

“Give me a minute, I need to think…”

The mage sulked.

“Think faster.”

The Herald sighed.

“For now, I don’t see any option where you don’t end up with a newly broken nose or a shiner.”

Suddenly, Valery boldly intervened:

“And what if I’ll be kissing you while Dorian fondles your gingleberries?”

The Herald mouthed a silent: “Wow!”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled rapturously, and Varric hesitantly licked his lips.

Tom looked at the girl in surprise.

“Suddenly feeling generous? Or just vindictive?”

She frowned and replied roughly:

“A bit of both. I’m offering you a way out. So, what do you say?”

Trevelyan nodded.

“The minute starts now.” And he lifted his face towards the rising girl.

Before kissing him, she smiled and whispered:

“Pretend it’s my hand…”

Electricity filled the air, it felt like both friends were on the verge of devouring the Herald.

After a while, the man chased both of them away, panting and licking off the remnants of the smudged lip paint. The atmosphere was charged, and Varric already felt the tell-tale signs that he was the one too many there. So, he downed a glass of liquor and stood up with the intention of leaving the room. Dorian nodded to him and remained sitting next to the Herald, avidly awaiting the development of the situation and literally eating the man with his blazing gaze.

The dwarf started to edge toward the exit, but his curiosity kept him from doing it too quickly.

Trevelyan looked inquiringly at Valery.

The girl sat back on her stool as if nothing happened and tried to avert her eyes, but they were inadvertently returning to the Herald. Her breath was shallow and hastened, her pupils dilated.

Unhurriedly, Tom stood up, fixing the girl with his mesmerizing gaze, and addressed Dorian in an even deeper than his usual voice:

“Dorian. Now you will need to wash your face, get dressed, and go sleep with the rest of the team. I will be very grateful to you.”

The mage was not happy with the order but at least he stood up and started moving in the direction of the vanity table, where he took a towel and began demonstratively if very unhurriedly, rubbing his face.

Meanwhile, Trevelyan stepped to the girl, lifted her from the seat, and put her butt on the table. After a long pause when he just contemplated her, he cupped her face between his palms and started languidly kissing her on the mouth.

Dorian froze, biting his lower lip, acutely wishing to draw closer.

Valery moaned and clutched at Tom’s lapels as if for fear of him leaving.

They made it in complete silence, only their breathing and occasional grunts and moans escaping them. When they were reaching climax, the girl unexpectedly started producing such deep guttural sounds that all men in the room, including Dorian, felt their skin crawl.

There were no other loud expressions but the primaeval animalism of their action shook both spectators to the core, so much as if they witnessed some very profound ancient sacred rite.

After a while, the Herald spoke. He was still mainly looking at the girl but was addressing the men in such a commanding voice that no one would dare to disobey him:

“Both of you, leave. Now.”

He pointedly waited for them to vacate the premise, then effortlessly lifted the girl and put her on the bed.

“You can always say ‘stop’,” he whispered, leaning over her.

In the wee hours of the morning, Thomas entered the main deck to have a gulp of fresh air and to be alone. He had washed his face, but his lash-lines still retained some traces of paint and were rimmed with black, giving his clear stare a piercing quality.

But there was another visitor to the place. Dorian was watching the rolling waves at the bow of the ship.

Tom sighed and approached the mage. He felt tired and sleepy, but he instinctively knew that his presence was needed.

For a while, the two men just stood there silently. Then the Herald sat down at the railing, and Dorian turned to him.

After a pause, the mage uttered bitterly:

“How come that everyone around you loves you, or wants a part of you, or to be with you, or to be you?... You are like an addiction, Thomas, you know that?”

The Herald sighed again.

“I’m sorry, Dorian, but you are mistaken. Don’t idealize me, I’m not different from others, I’m so very ordinary, I fuck up a lot. And I cannot be responsible for what other people make of me.”

The mage lowered his head in deep thought.

“What I witnessed… it felt like an initiation.”

He raised his eyes full of amazement on the Herald. He could not believe what he was feeling.

Tom slowly nodded.

“Maybe it was.”

Dorian stood there feeling like a small boy who was allowed to peep into the great secret of adulthood. He felt very strange.

The Herald rose, patted his friend on the back, and put his right hand on Dorian’s shoulder, his glowing left one safely tucked in the pocket of his trousers. They stood there when the first tint of the morning colored the horizon on the east.

***

The bustling port at Caer Cramond was the hub of maritime activity in the region. Thousands of ships were coming and going all year round, bringing prosperity and wealth to the whole island.

The local warm climate, the location of the island, and its vast sheltered harbor made Caer Cramond the ideal gateway of the north. The namesake city made an unforgettable impression on the most seasoned travelers with its lavish northern beauty and style. The islanders were refreshingly polite but were well-known to be able to stand up for themselves as well as for their fellow countrymen.

The port director gave a firm handshake to the Inquisition representative.

“I am so excited at the news, ser!” he said truthfully, with a tint of emotion in his voice. “Certainly, I will meet his Worship myself any time he wishes and I will answer all his questions pertaining to the shipwreck. And I do hope that his Worship will agree to have a dinner tomorrow shared with our magistrate. My daughter Misty River, Blodwen Simervain, will help us with translation. She was greatly impressed by her travel to Skyhold and by the Inquisition deeds.”

The representative bowed and left for the Herald’s ship.

The Herald bowed politely to the port director and formally introduced himself.

The director beamed pleasantly.

“I, sharl Granit of Pied Hills, or sharl Uru at Grohammen in our language, am very honored to meet your Worship! Your presence is an immense privilege for all of us, humble faraway islanders. You saved the skies for the whole world, your Worship! And thus, you saved even those of whose existence you were not aware.” His voice trembled with emotion, but the man steadied himself and continued: “We will be ready to grant your slightest wish, you have only to ask. Our magistrate holds a humble hope to see your Worship as our guest tomorrow at the city hall, it will make my colleagues endlessly exultant!”

After an hour of inevitable small talk and incessant praise to the director’s daughter and her invaluable help with the Inquisition organization structure, Trevelyan finally managed to weasel out directions on how to get to the local market without getting well-meaning but overzealous offers of help.

He stood up and extended his hand to the port director.

“I am very happy to have made your charming acquaintance, esteemed sharl Uru at Grohammen,” he made his best to recreate the islander’s pronunciation. By the latter’s wildly ecstatic look, Tom understood that his little effort hit home. “But I would like to make my best with the limited time I have at your lovely Caer Cramond. I will be deeply honored to dine with your magistrate, but for now, I would like to take your leave, noble ser.”

At the pretty small square in front of the port director’s villa, Tom met his companions and ventured with them into the maze of twisted narrow streets of the old town.

The local market was vast, generous, and rich, like the land that brought it forth; it sported endless rows of palm straw hats, snakeskin belts, mottled woven fabrics, baskets, sandals, pottery, sponges, perfumed oils, hand-blown glass, and a multitude of other local produce.

The Inquisitor’s crew slowly made their way toward the food part of the market, stopping here and there to wonder at hand-made curiosities.

Finally, they spotted mountains of cane sugar, fruits, and vegetables, pyramids of rum bottles, stacks of chewing gum, bowls with nuts and spices, odorous displays of mollusks and fish.

Valery perked up and zoomed into a row of spices. She was lost there for at least an hour, so the guys had a chance to look at other things. While Tom was lazily eyeing a stall with various ropes and lassoes, Dorian took it upon himself to adapt the Herald to the local sunny weather with cold gusts of wind from the nearby snow peaks by putting on the man’s head a wide-brimmed hat made of fine palm fibers and a picturesque light-brown striped wrap of fine wool. Tom looked at the mage in mild surprise, his eyes sparkling from under the brim, a bright smile quickly flashed on his dark tanned face. He thanked the mage and returned his gaze to a thin rope braided of white hair.

Tom pensively rolled the cord between his fingers.

“I do not recognize the texture,” he uttered in Antivan, intensely curious about the exotic-looking vendor. “It is not horsehair. It is softer and silkier, but as strong…”

The vendor, a young gold-skinned man with fine features, dark-brown hair, and clever green eyes, was dressed in an outstanding fashion. His outfit consisted of a loin-cloth woven in thin purple wool and a sophisticated network of thin sand-colored ropes that covered his torso like a gigantic almost live web.

The young man laughed delightedly.

“You know your stuff, bright-man!” he said in a barely understandable Antivan dialect.

Suddenly, the Inquisitor raised his finger and exclaimed:

“I know! It is Qunari hair!”

The vendor readily nodded, visibly pleased.

“Yes. Tal-Vashoth come, hurt my people. Tal-Vashoth hair good for Baadji!”

Tom pointed to the ropes, the delight at discovering a new unknown culture making him beam:

“You call these ropes ‘Baadji’?”

The vendor put his palm to his chest and said solemnly:

“We are Baadji people. Baadji protect us, live with us, heal us.”

The Inquisitor squinted, unsure how to phrase his question.

“So, you… come from some kind of rope culture?”

The young man proudly nodded:

“We Baadji people.”

An older man ‘dressed’ like the vendor, except for the colors of his loincloth and ropes, which was dark red and pale blue, respectively, approached them. He was powerfully built and looked no more than 40 years old, but his eyes had a piercing quality of someone much older. Both Baadji looked alike, but did not seem to be relatives, they were both stunningly well-groomed and both had lucid sparks in their eyes.

Tom, very curious and intuitive by nature, lightly bowed to the man, and their eyes met, the older Baadji acknowledged Trevelyan’s clever gaze by a bow of the same depth.

“My name is Kempa Wind,” he said without adding anything. He glanced at the silent Dorian and thoughtfully took a thin emerald twine in his dexterous fingers.

“My name is Tom,” echoed the Herald in the same tone. He tried to pace the contact to the Baadji tempo.

The older man seemed to appreciate it. He took another thin twine, a dark red one, and seemed to listen to it for a minute, then, with a shadow of surprise in his face, he put it back and took another one, of deep purplish hue. Then he turned to the Herald and said in a fairly good Antivan:

“What do you wish to know, Tom?”

Out of the blue, the Inquisitor asked:

“I look for a certain Akasha Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden. Our search leads us to Seheron, but I somehow doubt that she is there. I wish to know if you know of her.”

Kempa Wind neither denied nor acknowledged anything. Instead, he moved a small knot on the shoulder of his web half an inch toward his clavicle. Then he took a rough turquoise and a silky golden twine and added them to the other two already in his hand.

Then he looked at Tom and studied his eyes in depth. Trevelyan calmly held his gaze, allowing the man to explore him.

“You are brave,” finally said the Baadji. “Why do you wish to find the one who does not wish to be found?”

The Herald hesitated for a fraction of a second, then removed a stack of papers from inside his jacket and showed them to the man.

“She sent me these. I used them to heal the land and ease our way here; and I want to know more.”

Barely glancing at the documents, Kempa Wind looked at the Inquisitor.

“You know, your people have a saying about curiosity. There are things not meant to be discovered.”

The Inquisitor drew in air. He instinctively understood that it would be best not to resort to any manipulations. When he exhaled, he made the decision.

“I also have a personal interest in learning about this method. I - just – **_feel_** **_the_** **_need_** to know more. I cannot explain it any more coherently.”

Kempa Wind slightly frowned and moved another knot a little.

He pondered on something for a long time then he nodded to both men, said: “Come tomorrow when the sun shines on top of that mountain,” and disappeared into the crowd.

“There you are!” exclaimed Valery, having popped up near them, hugging a big basket full of paper packets smelling of spices. “I barely recognized you in this trendy outfit. Lovely hat, gorgeous wrap… ah, Dorian, you did a good job…”

Only now had she notice their slightly disconcerted looks and turned her head.

“Oh! Wow! A Baadji, here of all places! Such luck!” she shifted the basket to her right hand and made an unusual gesture with her left one. “Menkuni ree ur gro!” she greeted the young vendor.

The latter grinned happily.

“Mentami, mentami ke ur!” he nodded to the spice hunter.

She searched her pockets, fished out a silver coin, and gave it to the young man.

“Kale hash saran, peare!”

The vendor nodded and took a blue twine. But when he lightly touched the pulse spot on the girl’s outstretched wrist, he shook his head.

“Nale hash saran, poho. Wege hash bedre, lo.”

When Valery frowned, trying to grasp the meaning of unfamiliar words, the vendor explained in his bad Antivan:

“Cannot wear saran. Sorry, have to wear bedre now.”

The girl frowned even more.

“But why?”

The vendor shook his head helplessly.

Pointed to the sky, made a semi-circle, took an aqua twine, and showed it to the girl.

“Also good,” he uttered assuredly.

Valery sighed. She hesitated, visibly put off, then nodded.

“All right, if it works as well…”

The young man nodded: “Works well, very well,” and set to bind the girl’s wrist with an intricate set of twine knots.

When they finally left the stall, and Valery was pensively studying her new bracelet, Tom eagerly asked her:

“What was that all about? Not only you know of these obscure people, but you know their language as well? What other talents do you hide, Val?”

Valery stopped examining her bracelet and answered:

“This is a unique tribe. It has successfully escaped the attention of most other races and formations of Thedas, they live peacefully in mountainous warm forests, they developed a one-of-a-kind rope culture. The Baadji people write letters in rope knots, they can defend themselves by bonding several cords on their bodies in a particular way, they skillfully use ropes as weapons, they put spells on ropes, and even can correct flows of mana by tying twine in a certain fashion. One day, a group of renegade Tal-Vashoth discovered the lost tribe and quickly understood the practical advantage of such discovery. Of course, they were in no hurry to reveal their find to the rest of the world and instead kept the discovery to themselves, trading with these strange people, carefully studying them and trying to get to know all their secrets. But the open-minded Baadji, albeit seeming like simpletons at the first glance, were no fools. They did not need to be knowledgeable in the ways of the outside world to be able to tell good things from bad ones. So, they gladly accepted new exotic materials for their beloved ropes and willingly taught the horned giants some essentials of their rope culture but proved to be very resilient to the foreign influence. One day, the Tal-Vashoth lost their patience with ‘inferior’, as they thought, people, and attacked them to punish for their stubbornness. No one ever saw those Tal-Vashoth again. But once they were gone, the Baadji slightly opened to the outside world. At least nowadays, their peddlers can be found in such faraway places as this island. They offer to bind talismans for good luck, health, and protection to all willing, they attune such talismans individually to each customer. I’ve been wearing such things since the day I discovered them. They are really awesome and very efficient, better than the conventional magic… Sorry, Dorian… And they’ve always been blue. I wonder why he chose a different one today. It’s very… unexpected, and… strange. The Baadji are not known to make mistakes…”

Dorian shrugged his shoulders, visibly unimpressed by the girl’s story.

“Maybe this one did make a mistake, he is young, after all…”

Valery rolled with laughter.

“What do you reckon, how old is he?”

The mage wrinkled his forehead.

“About eighteen, twenty…”

The girl shook her head.

“At least forty. They don’t age in the same way. They are **_really_** very different from us.”

Dorian shrugged off such nonsense and addressed the Herald:

“To this day, I cannot fathom why you chose to sleep with this pest instead of that cute islander River? It just does not make any sense to me!”

The Herald eyed Valery with a trace of mocking suspicion in his gaze.

“Maybe it takes two pests to a pair, or maybe it’s her lucky talisman that worked its charm on me…”

The girl scoffed.

“Yeah, right, the last one I had, fell off a year ago! I believe the Baadji purposefully make them with an expiry date. They work for about twelve months then crumble and fall off. Clever people.”

The Herald smiled and turned to Dorian.

“Then it’s just a case of birds of the feather. I find Val gorgeous. I bet you do too, even if you consider her to be a living piece of art rather than a warm woman of flesh and blood. Also, Val is on good terms with her sweet little cunt, while River was… not so much. Too much fluff in her pretty head. And now, when all my bed affairs and Valery’s virtues are thoroughly discussed, let’s head on the scallop hunt!”

“Admit it, you still forget how to pronounce ‘tuntaleons’!” giggled the girl.

“Guilty as charged!” exclaimed Tom, cramming his new hat on her head and laughing.

But it was not in the cards to get to the fish market tonight, for Tom heard faraway sounds of music, and it was enough for him to sprint in that direction. His buddies followed him until a small square with vendors of musical instruments. There were a few musicians trying out a few flutes, a string instrument, and two soft-spoken tambourines.

The Herald listened to them for a minute, then started nodding, then added his own clapping to the improvised jam session, took a cog rattle from the nearest stall, and gave it to Valery without even looking her way, too preoccupied with finding the right pitch for his own sound. Grabbed a strange-looking lute from a laughing vendor, tried the strings, fiddled with them, and caught on the tune produced by the other musicians.

A small crowd started gathering around them, people clapping and smiling, nodding, and stomping rhythmically to the music.

In the process of playing, Tom found pauses to shake hands with the other performers, grinning at them happily.

When he started singing, the crowd cheered enthusiastically, for his strong, masterfully attuned voice carried far away into the mountains, reverberating through the hearts of all present and sending sweet shivers down people’s spines.

Soon, the whole market was dancing and singing with them in a powerful maelstrom of sound and light; the sun went down, but the music rang on, preventing the city from sleeping. When it grew completely dark, people were amazed to see swarms of fireflies circling in the night sky in astonishingly regular patterns, as if tracing invisible waves of music.

The merrymaking stretched well into the night, but no one wanted to leave the show, and even the city guards who were supposed to patrol the streets just stopped at a corner of a street to listen a bit and remained there until the end.

People did not want to let the musicians go, but those were, albeit happy, drenched in sweat and exhausted. The Herald went with them to get acquainted and talk, gesturing his buddies to follow them. It proved extremely hard to shake off the enthusiastic crowd, but they finally managed to do it after performing the very last song and thanking all present.

“He did it again,” murmured Dorian to Valery, trying to keep the man in sight.

The girl nodded.

“The size of his talent makes me willing to forgive him any of his personal shortcomings. It’s disturbing.”

Dorian shrugged.

“Why are you complaining? He’s never been really mean to you… or anyone I know, for that matter. But you are right about his talent, it’s something inexplicable… He always could send the whole tavern into a frenzy with his rich voice and powerful charisma, but now he goes beyond that and channels it all… I should be jealous, but I’m just incapable…”

Valery woke up late in the morning in an unfamiliar hut, surrounded by lots of unfamiliar sleeping people. She looked around and was relieved to see Dorian snoring a few paces away.

At first, she could not find the Herald, but soon, she heard him telling someone:

“…Oh, don’t worry, I know how girls are, I have two sisters among my siblings. You can be tough as nails, you can be fiercely independent, but if a guy hurts you, you will still cry in bed and call for pestilence on his head. That’s impossible to understand, but compulsory to remember. So, let’s just say that I appreciate your offer but we’d better not start on this path…”

Valery could not make out the reply of the other party, but she clearly heard the Herald’s laughter.

“Tell it to my wife, dear. Just be careful not to stand too close…”

It was as if the sky fell on Valery. Of course, she never entertained any silly thoughts about marriage, but still… this was too unexpected. She felt shell-shocked, for she felt so profoundly connected to the man that there was no place for anyone else in her mind, however ridiculous that felt given his lifestyle and status… She was driven by the single desire to get away from all of it when she hastily scrambled to her feet and left the hut by another door, completely devastated.

The Herald kicked his buddy and asked him:

“Do you know where Val is?”

Dorian closed his mouth and opened his eyes. His bewildered gaze told Tom plenty.

“All right, probably hunting for another batch of spices… Let’s return to the hotel, I need to wash and change clothes…”

Valery was thinking out her options on boarding the next ship and finally chose a nice streamlined Antivan cruiser, destination: Kirkwall. At the last minute, she decided to notify the captain of their “Pride of Andraste” that she would not be coming back and to thank him for the trip, then she checked out of the hotel, left a note at the reception for the team, and went for last-minute shopping.

Not yet too worried about his companion, the Herald groomed himself, shaved his beard, and unhurriedly ventured into the old town to see the sights. There was still plenty of time until his meeting with the Baadji and the dinner at the magistrate.

The older Baadji took a good look at the Herald. Today, he was the one sitting at the stall, no young Baadji in sight.

Then he resumed braiding a twine of unusual deep plum color with strains of gold and turquoise.

Tom sat in the shade of the stall and began calmly watching people go by from under the brim of his straw hat.

The sun was traveling the sky in its course, the shadows kept moving, and it was not until dusk that the Baadji spoke again.

He put down the now ready gold-flecked plum twine and took an odd-shaped fruit from under the table. He cut its tip and drank from it, then gave the fruit to the Herald.

The latter accepted the drink and made a few gulps.

The liquid was fresh, slightly astringent to the taste, but overall quite pleasant.

The Baadji made a gesture for his guest to come closer. Then he removed on his own accord the wrap from Tom’s shoulders, then his jacket and chemise, leaving the man in his trousers. The Herald did not argue. Instead, he was watching the man’s actions with live interest.

The Baadji formed a complex web of plum twine on the back of the Herald’s left hand that contained the rift anchor, then the twine was drawn toward his elbow and farther onto the shoulder, chest, and the other shoulder. With an expression of work well done, the Baadji nodded and told Tom:

“Come back when you learn to do it without waking birds at night.”

The Herald frowned.

“Kempa Wind, and what about the Hero of Ferelden?”

The Baadji shook his head as if surprised by the man’s thickness.

“You already have what you came for,” he nodded at the plum twine now coiling like a snake on the man’s torso. “Now you have other things to do. Don’t worry, you will come back when the time calls. Now go learn, fight, love, make connections. Mind the black birds with red combs, they carry lots of sorrows for many people on their wings.”

The Herald blinked. He instantly thought of Leliana’s postal crows and involuntarily shivered. The mention of these carriers boded nothing good.

Then something odd became of his vision and perceptions. He took a step, and found himself at the edge of the city, in a dense forest. Only the forest was alive and it was whispering to him. His bound arm and chest were almost burning with heat emanating from the plum twine, its golden specs now more prominent than before. Tom waved his hand in front of his face, trying to dispel the vision, and saw a postal crow on a branch. The bird cawed, and Tom saw Leliana’s frowning face. The spymaster looked very disturbed. It was time to return. The Herald shook his head and looked at his right fist. He was clutching his clothes in it. He set to put them on, but the coordination of his movements was unusual and clumsy. Somehow having overcome the lack of dexterity, the Herald turned and found himself in front of the city hall. Dorian approached him and looked into his eyes. Then the mage slapped him quite hardly across his cheek.

“Oh, man! Come to your senses! Why would you take drugs just before the reception?! That’s twisted even for you, my dear! Come I’ll make you some time to go to the lavatory and splash some sense into your face!”

The Herald blinked, and there he was in the city hall’s lavatory, staring at himself in the mirror. His pupils were so large that there were almost no irises left visible, his skin was pale as alabaster and somehow shimmery like the pearly lining of an oyster shell. The man looked inside his own eyes and laughed. All this seemed so silly! All these people gathering here for him… so silly…

Dorian peeked inside.

“Tom! How are you, buddy?”

Trevelyan laughed again and uttered:

“Ah, my dear faithful Dorian! Always there for me!”

He approached the mage and planted a big sloppy kiss on his lips.

After a minute of shock, Dorian got a grip on himself and slapped the Herald across the face.

“You need to come to your senses! Now!” he hissed in an angry whisper. “I’ll ask you later what’s came over you!”

Tom laughed. “I’m just grateful to you, that’s all…”

The mage frowned.

“All right. Time for drastic measures!”

And he conjured a shower of icy water and poured it onto the Herald’s head.

The latter yelped and did not even have time to say that he needed a moment, when he found himself in a lake of icy water somewhere in the deep south, in Korkari Wilds. The water was so cold it felt like a flame, but still, he could breathe and function due to the twine that generated a shield of a hot layer on his skin. From afar, he saw a black-haired witch conversing with a shaven-headed woman in a dark-red leather jumpsuit, sporting two sabers. There was a huge mabari at her side and a young templar who definitely looked very uneasy. Suddenly, the shaven-headed woman looked straight at Tom with her piercing icy eyes and smiled brightly at him with a singularly open and warm smile. A voice in his head uttered: “Now, there are people waiting for you.”

And the vision burst in a bubble, the Herald returned to the lavatory at the city hall, fully awake and aware of his surroundings. And wet from head to feet.

“Dorian, now you’ll have to do something with my clothes!”

“Are you all right?!”

“Yes! I’m all right! I’m fine, I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’m here. Now, Dorian, I cannot go to these nice people wet and… dirty?!”

He removed a piece of alga from his jacket and stared at it. He knew fairly well all the bog flora because that’s where one could find dragons most of the time. And this alga was definitely from the south… deep south…

There was no time now to ponder over this oddity, so the Herald just stuffed the wet plant into his pocket, waited for Dorian to work his miracle on his clothes, and then they both stepped outside.

The islanders were indeed very nice people, very clear-headed, intelligent, mature, and with a tinge of childish naïveté.

The Herald praised again the lady River for all her help to the Inquisition and stayed neutral and polite to her.

Naturally, the members of the magistrate were already acquainted with the news of a spontaneous concert in the streets of their city, and the Herald spent the first hour of the soirée answering their questions.

Finally, the long evening was closing to an end, the magistrate members were very happy with the event, and the Herald at last found time to accost Varric.

“Where’s Val? We were supposed to be here all together!” he whispered to the dwarf with a note of impatience in his voice.

Varric’s face froze. Then he frowned and whispered, carefully choosing his words:

“She checked out of the hotel this morning, took all the spices and mollusks with her, and boarded an Antivan ship to Kirkwall…”

Tom’s eyes flashed a dangerous spark.

“To Kirkwall?! What on earth came over her…?!”

Varric shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry, that’s all I know. She left a note ‘For the Inquisition crew’ at the reception, I never got a chance to talk to her.”

Trevelyan frowned.

“Damn! What’s happening?! Do you have the note on you?”

The dwarf nodded and started rummaging in his inside pocket.

“Yeah, I thought you’d want to see it…”

He gave the paper to the Herald, and the latter quickly scanned it.

“It does not explain anything! What the Fade is going on?!”

To the outsiders, the Herald appeared to be calm, his face as smooth as that of an Anderfels stone idol, but the dwarf saw the indicative crease between his brows and took a step back.

“Tom, the girl must’ve had her reasons. Once we get to Skyhold, or even earlier, we’ll learn everything. Our ship will also have to make a stop at Kirkwall, we can inquire there…”

The Herald nodded pensively.

“I’ll have to check one thing, just to be on the safe side…” he told Varric and disappeared into the crowd.

First, he accosted the port director and in a very careful manner learned that the man had no previous knowledge of any girl in the Inquisitor’s entourage, then he found River and addressed her:

“Ah, lady River, my compliments for such an outstanding evening, I could never imagine anything so splendid performed outside the fabled Orlesian Empire!”

The young woman graciously inclined her head and responded with a light smile:

“It is not my doing, your Worship, but I thank you for the compliment, nevertheless. We, islanders, are very susceptible to the Herald of Andraste’s praise.” There was a slight ironic undertone to how she pronounced ‘the Herald of Andraste’, but, given her history with the man, it was understandable.

Trevelyan curved the tips of his lips into a polite smile and said nonchalantly:

“I wanted to introduce you to my precious companion, lady Valery Acciai of Anderfels, I’m sure you two would have a very entertaining evening.”

Lady River looked around and gazed in surprise at the man.

“So, where is she?” she asked in genuine wonder.

“Oh, I’ve been asking myself this question all evening,” he answered, discreetly studying the young woman’s face and body language. “For she seems to have chosen not to participate in this event.”

River looked earnestly disquieted.

“I am so sorry. Did you have any kind of dispute with her prior to coming here?”

The Herald shook his head.

“Our previous evening was spent in very good spirits.”

The young woman shrugged her shoulders.

“Then you should not worry, she will turn up eventually.”

Trevelyan cocked his head inquiringly:

“And what about security on your island?”

River frowned.

“It should be safe in downtown… the port is less so, for obvious reasons, but why would a traveler, and a woman to boot, go to some seedy places?”

“And the outskirts?”

The islander sighed.

“We are not a nation of thugs, your Worship. The sea trade gives our people enough to live a good life, and easy money has never been very attractive for our young because it is simple to make money here without resorting to crime. If you are worried about your companion, I could introduce you to our chief guardsman, he is over there, talking to the chief architect…”

The track grew cold, and Trevelyan decided not to pursue this line of inquiry.

He bowed to lady River and went to the mayor to say his goodbyes.

***

Lady River was looking into the Herald’s back, frowning and biting her lips.

The news on the man’s new companion unpleasantly vexed her.

After returning from her travels, she had hoped to never see the Herald again, and yet, when faced with him tonight, she felt restless again, her turmoil as fresh and alive as if only yesterday she were boarding the ship back to her homeland…

She knew of her father’s secret disappointment at her returning, for it had been the family’s unspoken hope to make her the Herald’s… if not spouse, then at least a close friend.

Even if not ready to admit that she had been regretting her flaring up, she nevertheless had spent many evenings in her ship cabin trying to imagine how things could go if she would just give in and let the man explore her further…

Someone came over and offered her a glass of sparkling wine.

“You look so lovely when blushing, milady,” gallantly murmured a young naval officer in her ear, suggestively nibbling at it. “I was looking forward to seeing you at this reception. I kept thinking about you ever since we said goodbyes upon your arrival back home. May I hope that our little on-board fling can grow someday into something more…?”

River turned to him and smiled.

“Ah, dear! What happened on the ship, stays on the ship.”

***

At the hotel, a new dispatch awaited the Herald. The man glared at the stone-faced liaison, sighed, and removed his official gold-embroidered jacket.

The liaison, a very serious young man in his early twenties, put the package on the table and stood still, awaiting instructions.

Tom lit a few more candles and sat in an armchair, squinting at the papers.

Sighed again.

“You are here for a bit, may as well pour yourself something and sit down,” he told the liaison officer, taking a pen.

“Thank you, your Worship,” the young man replied stiffly and remained standing.

One of the letters was from lady Montilyet, and it visibly saddened the Herald.

He put down the pen and sat still for a while, his eyes empty. Then he cleared his throat and asked the young man mildly:

“Have you been to Haven with us, or did you join later?”

The young man’s stare grew hard.

“Yes, your Worship. I’ve been with your Worship at Haven.”

Tom silently nodded, unintentionally reliving the nightmare, and said in a hoarse voice:

“Our ambassador is planning a memorial service there. They will also open a commemorative monument to all lost…”

The youth’s eyes became shimmery, betraying his emotion.

Tom stood up and came up close to the young officer, patted him on the shoulder, and nudged him toward a guest chair.

“Have a seat, pal, grab a pastry. At your age, I wolfed down anything that came my way,” he attempted to lighten the mood. “We’ll have to go there, you and I, to pay our dues to…” he caught himself, still unable to speak of the tragedy.

The young man accepted the seat this time, also shaken by the news.

Tom patted him again and returned to his chair, trying to gather his thoughts for a reply.

Violent dreams did not give him any rest for the whole night, and Tom woke up early in the morning drenched in sweat.

He went to wash himself and stopped in his tracks looking at the rope that now coiled on his hand, arm, and chest.

It was almost black, the gold glimmering on it like rays of the sun.

The Herald went into the bathroom, and, half-expecting something weird to happen, poured a pitcher of water on his head.

The rope produced a hissing sound. The gold thread softened, but then the turquoise thread became visible, brightened, and then the plum color returned. Tom felt slightly better, but when he saw a shaven-headed woman in the mirror behind him, he let out a curse, put the empty jug in front of his genitals, and quickly turned around.

There was no one. The man turned his head to see the mirror, but it returned only his reflection.

He shook his head, washed himself more thoroughly, and went back into his bedroom.

And the shaven-headed woman, appearing out of thin air, passed him by and went to sit in the chair most naturally in the world.

She still appeared somewhat iridescent, but this time she did not look like an apparition. She glanced at the Herald with amiable curiosity.

Tom grabbed a towel and put it around his hips, but the disturbing feeling of nudity did not subside contrary to his usual ease at displaying his body.

It was as if this woman emanated… a glow. As if she was sitting in the center of a very thin rosy-golden floral pattern… Or maybe something became of his eyesight…

“You came so far to give me something,” she said to him, smiling.

Tom could not say what was her voice, but it seemed to him melodious and deep. And very warm.

He nodded and darted to his rucksack to take the precious flower, Andraste’s lashes, that he brought all the way through from Skyhold.

He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure whether he should speak before the woman, but she nodded and smiled to him encouragingly, and so, he said:

“The rare flower blossomed high in the mountains of the south after I did what you described in the papers that you had sent to me. I’m sorry to say that your envoy perished in a shipwreck here on this island…”

The woman carefully took the crumpled dry flower into her hands and lowered her gaze to look at it. First, her eyes became slightly sad, but then she smiled and her luminous gaze touched the troubled Herald.

“Yes, my dear faithful Zevran perished, but you brought him back to me, and I am so grateful to you.”

Tom momentarily doubted her sanity, but then he lowered his gaze onto the flower in the palm of her hand and saw it reviving, blossoming, glowing, and emitting a divine scent.

The woman stood up.

“I will plant your gift in a good place. Thank you, Herald. Be well.”

She approached him, placed a light kiss on his cheek, and then, having playfully sized him up, she warmly purred: “You are a good man.” Then she made a few more steps toward the door and disappeared into thin air.

Trevelyan exhaled and shook his head.

“What the Fade was that all about?!” he exclaimed out loud, trying to come back to his senses.

But there was no mistake. The feeling of her lips on his cheek was there, as well as the delicate perfume filling the air, and a crease in the cushion on the seat. Thus, he saw the Hero of Ferelden, the elusive Akasha Cousland, once queen of Ferelden, spouse to king Alistair and mother of the prince.

Tom stared apprehensively at the twine.

“Is this all your doing?” he asked it strictly. But the twine did not answer.

**-O-**

On the board of the Antivan cruiser, Valery was restlessly pacing inside her cabin.

She was seriously angry at herself. And at the Herald.

If only he had told her! He did not even give her the time to come to terms with this information! And now she was feeling like a fool for acting so rashly. Ok, he was married, big deal! Most noblemen were married soon after they learned how to walk! Why would she be so… outraged?! He never promised her anything, that’s for sure! He didn’t even think of warning her…!

This merry-go-round playing in her head for several hours exhausted her, and she decided to go take a gulp of fresh air.

As soon as she got acquainted with the crew and the passengers, she began missing the Inquisition team, but there was no going back, only forward…

**-O-**

The wind was howling in the mountains, throwing tiny icicles into the gloomy faces of men.

The place was tidied up, and bright banners of all parties were now decorating the newly erect poles, but only the Chantry house withstood the ravage of the avalanche, and that’s where all the bodies were buried in the basement thus transforming the building into a sepulcher.

A tall monument draped in thick fabric was already installed in front of the Chantry house, the surrounding flags giving it a festive appearance contrary to the sad occasion that brought it forth.

The Herald, draped in black furs, stood in front of it, grim and collected, surrounded by his advisors, his team, and a regimen of Inquisition soldiers. To the left and to the right of him, representatives of the Orlesian Empire and Ferelden kingdom stood at attention. All were listening to the sharp sounds of a bag-pipe tear the air and carrying the melancholic melody far into the mountains.

When its last notes died out, the Herald spoke:

“Today, we gather to remember the first victims of an ancient madman. These brave men and women had been here because they believed in the Inquisition, they stood up to the adversity when no one else did. They supported an unknown man arrested by the Chantry…” he paused to hold in check his emotion, then continued: “and claims of only two brave women, the Hands of the Divine. We were all desperate and afraid but these men and women gave us the strength to move ahead, urged us to do something against all odds, it was for them that we did it all… Today, we are not talking about the one who committed this heinous crime, we are here to honor the bravery of all these people for they will live on in our hearts and our deeds for ages on. To Haven! Hurray!”

He drew out his saber and raised it above his head, all the present followed suit.

The Herald cut the rope holding the fabric on the monument, and it fell to the ground revealing a magnificent statue of Andraste made of crimson porphyry. It was gleaming in the sun like a gigantic splash of solidified blood, creating a stunning effect against the white snow. The Anderfels perfect style was clearly legible in its smooth lines and the graceful pose of the portrayed prophet. The masterful artisans chose the stone wisely, as the face and arms of Andraste were cut from very light inclusions in the stone, and thus the rest of her crimson figure contrasted with tenderness and fragility of her skin.

The Herald sheathed his sword and made a tour around the twenty-yard-tall statue, admiring it. Then he stood at its feet and began singing the Chant of Light. The Chant spread, all present people joining in.

The Chant spread to the mountains and it was as if the surrounding nature was listening to people sing.

When the last sound died out, the Herald declined his head and stepped into the shadow of the statue.

People started moving around, some put flowers at the base of the statue, others went to the mausoleum to pay their homages and pray. The Herald went to find the spot where he fell into the catacombs that saved him from the avalanche and from Corypheus.

But everything was covered in snow now, and it was quite impossible to understand where was what. Even the remnants of the fateful catapult, restored and put up as a warning and a commemoration of his self-sacrificial act did not provide him with any clue.

He had been dreading to return to this place, where he just barely escaped a horrible death. Staring now at the same catapult that he managed to trigger, thus signing his own death sentence, was bordering on surreal, as if it was not him at all, or that it had happened to someone else. It was as if he was now just a tourist ogling a local curiosity.

But the breath of Corypheus on his face, the ancient horror’s deadly grip on his wrist, the triggering of the mechanism, the avalanche… all that was too vivid in his memory, each moment having engraved deeply in his body. The hard falling into the catacomb, the endless clawing and shuffling, and crawling, falling, getting up… He did not even realize that he moaned out loud.

“Bad memories?” a woman’s voice with thick Antivan accent startled him and brought him back.

Tom gratefully grinned and turned to lady Montilyet.

“Ah, Josie! My compliments on the statue, it is remarkable!”

The ambassador smiled contentedly.

“Thank you, your Worship, I wanted the very best for… our men.”

The Herald nodded.

“And I am very grateful to you for this. You commissioned it from the Anderfels, I take it?”

The ambassador turned to take a look at the statue.

“Indeed. It is magnificent, isn’t it?”

The Herald looked at it.

“Yes…” his voice trailed off. “I can still hardly believe I survived it.”

Josephine frowned, her own memories of the catastrophe marring her face.

Tom sighed and hugged the woman.

“Come. Let’s return to our crowd. I want to pay my respects at the Chantry house. The sisters will be holding a service, I take it?”

Lady Montilyet nodded and followed the man, feeling reassured by the warmth of his presence.

**-O-**

Leliana saw them from afar, and her mood instantly worsened.

She nodded to a scout to come closer and briskly told him:

“Fetch me the Inquisitor. Now.”

The scout stood for a moment with his mouth agape at such inappropriate request of his superior but then decided that it was unwise for his well-being to meddle in her affairs, bowed and trotted to invite the Inquisitor into their crow nest.

The Herald arrived upset and tired, and he instantly shrugged off his dusty jacket onto the spymaster’s table.

“I’m not in the mood to get summoned once I set my foot into the gate. Could it wait until I at least get back to my senses?” he grumbled in a low reverberating voice.

Leliana frowned and bit her lip.

“There are several affairs of utmost importance, Tom. I’m sorry I did not leave you any time to recuperate.”

The Herald sagged into a seat and rubbed his face with his palms.

“All right, I listen.”

Her report consisted of a series of accounts on the movement of Corypheus’ and Venatori troops, during which time Tom pulled off his tall hessian boots, unrolled his sash, and stole a musty cookie from a postal crow. Then he leaned back on his seat and put his feet on a pellet of straw, munching on the cookie.

After finishing her report, Leliana cast him a sharp gaze and added:

“I noticed you’ve paid lady Montilyet quite a bit of attention…”

Tom grimly glared at the spymaster.

“Ah! Finally! That’s what it’s all about! You’re jealous!”

Leliana scoffed and continued indignantly:

“I would never! I just need to warn you that entanglement with our ambassador seems most unwise!”

The Herald laughed bitterly.

“An ‘entanglement’? Seriously?”

The spymaster continued insistently:

“I asked Josephine to join the Inquisition because we needed a diplomat. Not so she could be toyed with!”

Tom wrinkled his face, totally indignated, and stood up.

“Toyed with? I’m done listening to this nonsense!”

“Tom, I just wanted to ask you to treat her with kindness, for her sake, as well as yours!” she explained quickly into his back.

Without turning to her, Tom said: “The title’s ‘your Worship’. Meet you at the Council tonight!” and took the stairs down to the library, leaving his travel clothes behind.

After a much-needed couple of hours of rest, Josephine looked refreshed and chirpy, and when the Herald opened the door to her cabinet, she met him with bright eyes and a happy smile.

He motioned her to follow him to the war room, and mentioned on their way there:

“Upon our arrival this morning, your friend Leliana gave me quite the speech about how I should be careful around you. I don’t know, ladies, what you are playing at, but please leave me out of it.”

Josephine looked shocked. She blushed and stuttered:

“But… but… I assure you, your Worship… Oh, it was just some girly talk… maybe she saw some complicity between us when we arrived from the service… I was just upset… And you just kindly supported me… I will talk to her!”

The man nodded.

“Please do.”

***

After the Council, the Herald went straight to bed.

But as soon as he shed his clothes and pulled on his blanket, the door to his quarters creaked and shut.

The Herald sighed and said loudly:

“Get out, whoever you are! I need a rest!”

Leliana’s soft voice echoed melliferously:

“I’m not here for sex…”

He heard her clothes rustling, and her warm body slithering into bed to lie next to him.

“I just needed a hug…”

He sighed.

“You know well it does not work like that.”

Her naked body pressed to him. She smelled his skin and nuzzled her face against his chest.

“I missed you…”

The Herald asked coldly:

“And that’s why you threw a tantrum this morning? I need a break, Leliana. From you, from all your women’s whims and moods. I need some personal space, and you are not fitting into it.”

Leliana did not need to hear such things twice. She sat in bed and started feeling for her clothes.

“I’ll tell Nikki and Barbra that you do not need their services anymore,” she said acidly, putting on her pants.

The man sighed.

“They do not infringe on my privacy. You do.” He yawned. “I’m tired, I miss my family, and I don’t give a damn about your petty games.”

The spymaster silently shook with anger when she put on her chainmail but she knew better than to spout empty threats. It was she who lost countenance, she got carried away, while she knew perfectly well that the Herald never fancied her. Furious, with burning cheeks, she left his quarters and slammed the door behind her.

**-O-**

Dorian accosted Varric at the latter’s usual post in the great hall.

“Hey, chum, say, do you happen to know what’s happened to our dear Valery? I haven’t seen her anywhere, and she must’ve already arrived even before us since we made a detour for Haven…”

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders.

“As far as I understand, she unloaded the stuff she brought from Caer Cramond and went to Minrathous to negotiate the arrival of some fancy sommelier. Go figure…”

The mage sighed and cursed under his breath.

“Vishante kaffas! She must be in for a while!”

Varric squinted at the mage.

“Wanted to see her?”

Dorian scratched his head in embarrassment.

“Well, I’m sort of bored…”

The dwarf grinned.

“You’re not the only one. Let’s grab Tom, Cullen, Bull, and go for a Wicked Grace championship!”

Dorian snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yee, the ecstasy…! All right, whatever… Just don’t tell Cullen the purpose of our meeting, or the crying towel will skip it!”

Tom was finally found at the farthest rampart practicing bow shooting. Cole could be seen near him, correcting his shots.

Varric and Dorian approached the Herald.

“Care for a Wicked Grace championship?” asked the dwarf without any ado.

Tom shook his head.

“Sorry, guys, for being a spoil-sport, but I’ve already asked Blackwall for a fencing practice, and tomorrow morning we go kick some Venatori ass, so I’ll need you both sober and fresh as daisies. Meaning no championships tonight. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks for the advance warning!” replied Dorian sarcastically and nodded to the dwarf to come along.

Tom sighed when they left.

“You totally misunderstand the meaning of equality. It does not mean that all should abide by your views derived from fashionable political ideas, it means that my view is as valid as yours even if you don't like it. We are all in the same starting conditions here.”

**-O-**

Upon returning to Skyhold, Tom dismounted, threw the reins to a page, waved to his companions, and hurried to the kitchens.

Donatien was there, busy yelling at a scullion, but when he saw the Herald, he nodded to the man, pointed to a free place at a side table, and put before him a few steaming plates of appetizers. Then he returned to his heated monologue. The scullion was not protesting, he just stood there very primly, trying not to blink, red in his cheeks.

Having finished his lesson by loudly throwing a dirty saucepan into a bucket of water, the chef returned to his guest, and the scullion hurriedly set to collect all dirty pans and pots.

“How was your trip?” Don asked, taking a seat next to the Herald.

Tom mumbled something, trying to swallow the food mass in his mouth, then replied:

“Got hit by a frost blast on the left side, thought it was my last day… Otherwise okay, I think we’ll confront Corypheus soon enough, couple of weeks at most…”

Don sighed, nodded, and went to cut a few more pieces of fresh bread for his friend.

The Herald wolfed down a slice of pie and took a mouthful of cauliflower puree when suddenly he wrinkled his face, spit out the mouthful, and wiped his lips.

“Gah! This is nasty! Someone’s had an accident at the kitchens! There is more soda in this puree than salt in the ocean!”

Don turned to him, not really surprised, and asked: “Indeed?” in such a manner that Tom suspiciously narrowed his eyes and put down the fork.

Without explaining anything, the chef went out into the adjoining room and returned, dragging his sister by the hand.

Valery was resisting him, sullen, her head held low.

Donatien pushed her in front of him toward the Herald and said:

“You see, Val here told me a tale of woe, which I was inclined to believe until an instant ago. Now I’m not so sure. I think we should get it straight before you go get yourself mangled by Corypheus. So, dear sis, care to repeat what you told me?”

She snapped at him testily:

“The Fade I will! There is nothing to tell, anyway!”

Don sighed and inquiringly looked at the Herald.

“I am more pissed off at you that you ever slept with her at all, but, in a nutshell, she is pissed off because you are married and that you never informed her about it before getting in bed with her.”

Tom’s face contorted into an odd mix of disbelief, anger, surprise, relief, and silly merriment.

“Are you serious?!”

He stared at Valery for a good long minute before bursting out in laughter.

“Finally, it makes sense!” he managed to utter through laughter and stood up.

He quickly approached her, grabbed the furious girl into his arms, and, continuing to laugh, went out of the kitchen. She was putting up serious resistance, kicking and screaming her lungs out, but she got no help from her brother or the frightened scullions and maids.

Tom dragged her into the wine cellar and finally put her down.

He held her tightly by the shoulders and tried to catch her ferocious stare.

“Look at me! Look at me! Maker, you’re such an idiot!” he continued laughing, and finally managed to catch a glimpse of her eyes. “Listen, silly girl, when I was talking about my wife that morning, I – was – referring – to you! I did not want you to bite my head off for flirting with that islander, so I told her that you were my wife! Yes, believe me, I’m not currently married to anyone, I’m a widower. You’re so silly!”

Valery looked at him in dismay, into his laughing eyes, and hit his chest with both her fists, with all the might she could muster.

“You are an idiot!” she screamed, deflating. “You are the biggest idiot I know of!”

Tom laughed, relieved, but still held onto her shoulders.

“Oh, now **_I_** am suddenly to blame! I cannot believe you could overreact like that!”

She hit him again, but less angrily this time.

“Why, oh why did you tell such lies?!”

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“I dunno, I felt that way! I liked the idea of you being my wife…! Now I’m not so sure…” he added ironically and got another hit in the chest. “Ouch! Stop hitting me, you Stormback!”

Valery groaned and squeezed her temples with her fingers.

“This is **_so_** stupid!!!” she mumbled, screwing up her face, red to the roots and dying of shame.

The man giggled. He was not inclined to make it easier for her, because he was angry too, but the tone of his voice, while ironic, was tender:

“Oh yes! That’s prize idiocy! I worried my head off trying to understand what happened!”

“Shut up!”

He shook his head, still in disbelief at the situation, and hugged the girl, tightly pressing her to his body:

“Oh no! I won’t shut up! If you don’t stop blaming me, I’ll tell everyone how your unfortunate habit of eavesdropping bit you in the ass!”

Valery let out a high-pitched squeal – the expression of her unbearable burning shame, hid her face on his chest and continued squealing.

After a while, she fell silent, her head hid between the man’s chest and her arms. Then she dropped down, slithering out of the man’s grasp and darted into a side passage. She hid behind a corner and said:

“Go away! I need to be alone! I wanna die here!”

Tom sighed, smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and started studying the nearby bottles.

“Suits me fine. I have here a nice company of… Chateau d’Acquilon and Pasteka y Torres…”

The girl wrinkled her nose and said, without coming out of her hideaway:

“Yuck! Don’t drink that stuff, it’s vile!”

Tom grinned and reasonably argued:

“Then why are you storing it here?!”

Valery sighed.

“For lesser nobles, the pompous louts who think too much of themselves!”

He curved his brow ironically.

“Hello Sera. Is that you?”

The girl frowned and shut up for a while. But the shuffling and clinking of bottles prevented her from falling back into self-pity.

“There are no good wines at the entrance, never!” she finally warned the Herald and went deeper into the cave to find a good bottle.

In ten-minutes time, she reappeared and grudgingly held out a dusty bottle to the man, without looking him in the eyes.

He took the wine and studied the bottle.

“Wow! I did not know we had such rarity here…!” he uncorked it by heating the bottleneck at the torch fire nearby, wiped off the remnants of the sealing wax and, having smelled it, asked: “So, what’s the occasion?”

The girl crossed her arms at the chest and grumbled, still avoiding his eyes:

“You tell me.”

Tom smiled and toasted:

“To the worst engagement ever!”

Valery quickly peeked at him from under her brows. She wanted to remain silent to keep if only an ounce of dignity, but her big mouth got the better of her:

“Did I miss something? When was the romantic period? The flowers, the niceties?”

Tom took a swig from the bottle and gave it to the girl.

“Oh, I don’t know…” he drawled, without looking at her. “Maybe when you were on that nice Antivan cruiser?”

She turned to go hide again behind the corner, but he caught her by the wrist.

“Hey, what is it with you constantly running away? A habit of yours?”

He pulled the girl toward him and hugged her.

“Stupid, stupid prickly girl,” he murmured tenderly, rubbing her shoulders and kissing her on her cupola.

She finally started weeping.

Tom smiled.

“Good. Let it out.”

He took the bottle from her hand, pushed the stopper back into its neck, and put the bottle on a shelf. Then he leaned on a wooden pillar and prepared to patiently wait out the torrent of the girl’s tears, softly caressing her and mumbling sweet nothings into her ear.

After a while, she sniffed and asked:

“What happened to your wife?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders but felt compelled to answer comprehensively:

“Oh, it was a long time ago, long before the fateful Conclave and all that followed. I was a regular young nobleman, I married for political reasons, but still, she was a bright girl, and I liked her very much... It was a silly hunting accident, at Halamshiral hunting grounds. We were invited to the imperial hunt; it was a massive event with hundreds of hunters and thousands of rangers. Sareppa was eagerly chasing a stag, but her mount got its leg caught in a nug hole, so she fell and broke her neck. Such a stupid accident… Our daughter Kylie is with my wife’s parents now – the Inquisition is not a safe place for a kid.”

Valery sighed.

“How old is she?”

“Seven. I’m told she’s a bright young lady…” he sighed. “A shame I had no time to get to Ostwick this time. Her grandparents were in no hurry to make a trip to the Kirkwall port for a meeting… they still blame me for that accident… All right, that’s enough of my family squabbles! Are you all right now?”

The girl nodded.

“More or less. But there’s no remedy for brainlessness, is there...? On the other hand, how else would I learn about your family?” she made a half-hearted attempt at a joke but was still visibly disconcerted.

Tom snorted.

“Oh, sure, there’s absolutely no other way of learning about such things! Better abandon the whole team at the end of the world, sprint back home and bitch about innocent people to her brother!”

Valery narrowed her eyes.

“Innocent? You?”

The man laughed.

“All right, not totally innocent, but completely blameless as related to your accusations!”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

Don’s head poked from behind the door.

“I heard laughter and concluded that the worst was over. What’s the damage to the cellar?”

The Herald turned his head in the direction of the opened bottle on the shelf and replied:

“An open Chateau de Beauvissac…”

“7:40 or 9:38?”

“Er… 9:38…”

Don looked relieved.

“Ah, ok then. Care to finish it in the kitchen, from normal wine glasses, or you prefer to freeze off your asses here?”

Tom perked up.

“Definitely the kitchen. It’s like a sarcophagus here!”

Valery remained silent but she also eagerly scurried out of the cave and into the warmth of the kitchen.

**-O-**

“That’d be nice,” he answered so calmly and naturally, that it instantly quelled all her worries. He put his arm behind her back, still not looking at her, and pulled her closer to him. “That’d be nice,” he repeated, taking her hand, caressing, and eyeing the tips of her fingers. “You’d become fat and beautiful, and I will love you even more,” he said matter-of-factly, finally looking at her with a light smile in the corners of his lips.

She curved her brow ironically as her lowered gaze kept wandering over the Baaji bracelet.

“Huh…” she whispered, “…means he knew it right then…”


End file.
